Letters Home
by Shadow Chaser
Summary: A series of interconnected one-shots from Benjamin Tallmadge's POV as navigates not only the Revolutionary War as Washington's Head of Intelligence, but also the Templars' machinations for the fledgling nation. Luckily, he has Connor as an ally of sorts.
1. Prodigal

Prodigal

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Author's Notes:**

A one-shot crossover between _Assassin's Creed 3_ and _TURN: Washington's Spies_. Takes place right in the beginning of Sequence 8 of AC3 when Connor discovers Benjamin Tallmadge has come to visit Achilles at the Davenport Homestead. Tallmadge's POV. Takes place after Episode 5 of Season 2 of TURN when Ben is searching for the truth of the plot to murder Washington.

 **Summary:**

Benjamin Tallmadge takes his beloved General's words to heart as well as Nathaniel Sackett's final words of wisdom and considers more sources in order to catch the culprits who would kill Washington.

* * *

 **Story:**

The Davenport Homestead had not changed, even after all of these years as Benjamin Tallmadge slowed his horse down to a trot, taking in his surroundings. Even though he had only been here once before, when he was just a child, he distinctly remembered its natural beauty. It had also been in the autumn, so the leaves had been at their most spectacular. The one thing that had changed was that he noticed more houses and a semblance of perhaps townsfolk that milled about, some working, others carousing with others. As he trotted by on the worn dirt paths towards the main house on the Homestead, he nodded cordial greetings to the people, some of whom seemed mildly surprised to see him while others gave him friendlier smiles.

Even with the lack of the signature hat of the dragoons on his head, and the blues of the Continental Army covered by the dark traveling cloak he wore, he supposed that he still looked distinctive. At least to the townsfolk. To the British and Loyalist patrols he had dodged riding past Boston and northward towards the Homestead, he was certain he looked like a well-paid merchant traveler or even a messenger of sorts. He carried a small white flag on the off chance that he had been stopped by Tories, but thankfully did not have to use it, especially around Boston and its surrounding suburbs.

The last time he had been at the Davenport Homestead; he had been a child, mostly wide-eyed and exuding the innocence of a child, but also beginning to understand that his father was somehow involved in mysterious work. It wasn't until he had been sent to Connecticut for schooling that he had truly understood the dual lives his father had been living up to then.

The Assassin Brotherhood existed in many facets of society, and he had been approached to join the school's "club"; until the night that he had been prepared to officially join them in an induction ceremony. Cries of murder and mayhem rang through the corridors and streets that Yale University inhabited and he had rushed to the club's house. He had discovered that the Yale chapter of the Brotherhood had been slaughtered by an unknown assailant. The dying faculty adviser had whispered to him to run, to hide because of one of them, a former Assassin turned traitor by the name of Shay Cormac was slaughtering all of them on the orders of the Assassins' ancient enemies, the Templars.

A few days later he received an urgent missive from his father to lay low and not breathe one word of any connection to the Assassins. During the holiday break that year, he had gone home to Setauket and his father had explained everything to him about his dual life as an Assassin for the Brotherhood and raising a family. After a few nights of solemn contemplation, he had decided that he would not join the Brotherhood – too dangerous to see enemies everywhere and realizing that neither the Brotherhood nor the Templars held the politicking of the Colonies and her Royal Overlords in particular value. His father had taken his decision with good grace, but Ben had reassured him that he would keep their secrets, if not for the years of loyalty and service he knew his father had sacrificed for him and his siblings.

Instead, he joined the Patriot cause soon after and found himself advancing through the ranks. The fact that he had been promoted and made into General Washington's personal head of intelligence was an irony that was not lost on him. But he had delved into the seedy underworld wholeheartedly, albeit with a lot of help from the late Nathaniel Sackett, but it also made him more aware of the strings being pulled between the dominant Templars and the fledgling Brotherhood. His father's Brotherhood had all but died after Shay Cormac betrayed them and slaughtered a majority of the leadership years before, but Ben was beginning to hear rumors of a man dressed not in the Continental Army's blues, but rather a variation of whites with a beaked hood always falling shadow across his head.

Surprisingly it had been his father who had urged him to contact Achilles Davenport, the former Mentor and leader of the Order. They both had thought him dead after Cormac's slaughter, but it seemed that the elder Assassin had survived. So he had sent a missive to Achilles a few days ago, about wanting to see this mysterious man that General Israel Putnam held in high regard and esteem.

Putnam had a reputation of being a very dour man, grim, gruff, and highly unpleasant and hard-to-please. Ben had only met him once and even he had been a little put-off by the man's unlikable demeanor. He demanded the best out of his troops and while his calls were unconventionally rallying and able to get the men to march upon rows and rows of well-trained Redcoats, he brook no room for argument from others in his battlefield plans. The fact that this mysterious man had Putnam's highest regard was most definitely a source of curiosity for Ben – aside from the obvious fact that it had been Putnam who had forwarded a letter of intent found on General Pitcairn's body talking about an assassination plot against Washington. Ben would be damned if any harm came to his General.

The traveling cloak was a little stifling in the summer heat, especially over his uniform, but Ben was used to such discomforts. This far north was far more pleasant in terms of summer climate than where they were camped in Connecticut. He knew that in a couple of months, the sweltering humidity would turn Connecticut and its surrounding areas into a veritable swamp of stifling stickiness. At least the smell of the sea breeze from the Davenport Homestead gave the illusion of dampening the early summer heat.

He nodded cordial greetings to the townsfolk he passed by, noting the muted surprise and caution some of them displayed. He supposed that they did not get many travelers like himself, or were either inherently mistrustful of outsiders they did not know well. He did not blame them as he long recognized the signs of those who wanted to be left alone by Tories or by the British soldiers who were quartered with them. Abe's infrequent letters – besides the occasional numbers he requested through the General – spoke of how the people of Setauket were holding up with the British quartered in their homes. His former hometown was a vertiable hotbed of Loyalists and Patriots, but many of them feared for their lives and livelihood. That scare tactic made him angry and to see it this far north...these men and women did not need to be scared of those who menaced them.

"Ho there, traveler," a man with a full thatch of hair and thick beard lumbered towards him, a genial smile on his face. He carried his ax with a purpose, the nearby stumps of what used to be a tree almost completely felled and cut for wood-burning purposes. The lumberjack took a swig of a waterskin that had been tossed at him by what looked like his partner who also took a moment to rest.

"Hello," Ben greeted with a small nod, "headed to the Davenport Homestead."

"Ya here to see the Old Man or Connor?" Ben knew it was probably the training Sackett had instilled in him, plus after working so long as the General's spymaster, that he could tell the lumberjack was sizing him up as a potential threat. It told him many things about this lumberjack; but the main thing was that no one in this community brook for any harm to come to either the Old Man, who had to have been Achilles, and Connor – the man General Putnam was praising up and down the Boston coastline.

Either this Connor must have done something incredible to earn the loyalty of the townsfolk for them to be this protective of a man who had been practically called a fearless fool by Putnam, or it was Achilles' doing. He suspected the former rather than the latter. His father had said that Achilles received a limp years and years ago that prevented him from undertaking many missions himself.

"General Putnam wanted me to give his regards for his actions on Breed's Hill," he did not think it was harmful to mention any of that, but at the same time, lifted his traveling cloak a little so that his Continental blues were showing as well as the specially packaged pistols Putnam had insisted the lad receive as a gift for his bravery and courage in the face of impossible odds. "Couldn't risk shipping it it by land convoy, too many patrols."

"Aye," the lumberjack seemed satisfied and nodded curtly before giving him a wider and friendlier smile, "Connor resides in the Homestead up yonder. Take the right fork to stable your horse. Watch out for the turkeys, they're vicious this time of the year. Can't wait for the fall when they're all plumped."

Ben laughed at the lumberjack's statement before reaching down and extending his hand for a shake, "Many thanks, sir. Major Ben Tallmadge if you would be so kind."

"Major, eh?" the lumberjack seemed surprised before giving a small shrug and shaking his hand with a firm, beefy grip of his own, "the name's Godfrey. That shrimp over there is Terry."

"Hey!"

Ben only nodded a greeting at the slighter man who had a full bed of red hair before straightening on his horse and spurred it to walk once more. He continued along the well-worn path, the green leafy trees parting soon to reveal the familiar red bricks of the Homestead and turned right on the indicated path. A stable soon came into view and Ben pursed his lips for a moment, noting a flock of turkeys milling about. Mindful of Godfrey's warnings about their ill temperament, he delicately scattered them by walking his horse into the flock and let nature take its course as they ran into the bushes and nearby grass, clucking and making disgruntled noises. Satisfied, he dismounted and let one of the stable boys take his horse, a twinkle of amusement in the boy's eyes having seen what he had done.

"Many thanks sir, couldn't even try to get Master Connor's horse out to try that. Vicious creatures, wouldn't even let me near the stables," the boy said with a gaped-tooth grin, "I think they're smarter than they look."

"It's all about taking the opportunities you're given," Ben said before leaving the boy with his horse and headed up the path to the main entrance to the Homestead.

He arrived in short order and knocked, absently smoothing down his hair in a habitual nervous gesture while he did so. A few seconds later, he heard the door unlatch and a weathered old face peered out. Ben could not help a smile that appeared on his lips at the sight of Achilles, looking just about the same, except for the white hair of age and slightly more wrinkled countenance about himself. At the same time, he also caught the narrowing of Achilles' gaze as he seemingly recognized him before his eyes widened a little in surprise.

"Tallmadge...Junior," Achilles greeted and Ben's smile grew a little wider.

"Sir," he nodded in confirmation, "it's been a while since we last met-"

"You were only just a wee lad come for the autumn festival with your father," Achilles said before opening the door wider and gesturing for him to enter.

"Thank you sir," he entered, taking off his traveling cloak as Achilles closed the door behind him and folded it across an arm. He did not miss the other man's distinctive up and down look at his uniform.

"Dragoons," Achilles surmised and Ben nodded. He knew that the uniform of the Continental Army's Dragoons were similar to most uniforms save for the distinctive feathered high-crown hat and only a few buckles and the way his sash stood out. Since he was not wearing his hat with him to make himself less conspicuous on the road, the fact that Achilles was able to easily point out his uniform, made him pleased that the former Mentor of the Assassin Order had not lost his edge after all these years. It also confirmed for him that he and Connor were paying a lot of attention to the war against the British, enough to be on top of the politics of this day and age.

"Your father was much the same when he was with us. Fearless, always at the forefront of danger, but never as reckless as some of my former apprentices. He always had a level head and keen eye," Achilles looked up at him, his sharp brown eyes twinkling a little, "much like you have done in your capacity as the head of Intelligence for the Continentals."

Ben blinked, part of him instantly going on guard at the words, the other part of him immediately thinking of ways to deny the news. His promotion to the Head of Intelligence had been a very quiet affair, General Washington still using General Charles Scott's capacity in the front lines as the 'official' source of Intelligence. He understood the deception, especially after his lessons with Sackett, so the fact that Achilles was able to discern it so quickly alarmed him.

"Relax, boy," Achilles smiled congenially, his white teeth splitting the darkness of his skin, "I knew that as soon as Connor reported his findings to General Putnam, they would find their way to your hands. Why do you think I sent a letter to Putnam to give his pistols to Connor by way of you. I knew you were going to want to investigate any threat on General Washington's life yourself."

"But-"

"Who do you think taught Nathaniel Sackett the secrets of subterfuge?" the older man said, tapping his cane a little impatiently.

"Sackett was a member of the Brotherhood?"

"One of the surviving ones after the purge," Achilles replied, "though I am saddened to hear the news of his passing."

"He was a good man," Ben grimaced against the tears that threatened to form in his eyes. He had looked up to Sackett as a mentor of sorts, and had been almost beside himself in grief after finding out how badly the two of them, along with the General himself, had gotten played by Major Andre's hand. The assassin had never been caught, even after the scouts he had sent out reported back that he had disappeared into the murky fog-filled night.

"Aye, he was lad," Achilles patted him gently on the arm before guiding the two of them to his parlor, "let me see if I can find Connor, but before that, anything I can get for you?"

"Uh, no sir," Ben ducked his head a little, "I only wished to deliver the pistols to Connor as a gift and also let him know that my intelligence network might have picked up Thomas Hickey's trail in New York City. I would be best if I guided him there."

Achilles nodded congenially, a twinkle in his eye that somehow Ben knew he was keeping a humorous secret of sorts. "As you wish," the old man said before glancing to the floor, his brow wrinkling a bit, "I think I know where Connor went. Forgive me lack of hosting duties for the next few minutes. The young boy sometimes likes to have his head in the clouds."

Ben smiled a little at the statement as Achilles limped away, headed towards the kitchen. He heard the sound of a kettle being put to stove and some cabinets being opened as well as china being set. He considered telling Achilles that he needed no refreshment, but held his tongue. Even if it was not for him, perhaps the older Assassin wanted something to wet his palate. The sounds died away as Achilles' cane thumped across the wooden floor boards and several creaks later, all but disappeared.

Ben took the opportunity to set his cloak down and drew out the pair of pistols General Putnam had given to him, still lingering with the faint odor of Cuban cigars. He supposed that the smell would never go away. He set the pistols on one of the tables next to his cloak before moving to the kitchen, hearing the faint burble of the kettle boiling its water. Achilles had set out at least three cups and fresh tea was already in the pot. He looked around and cast for a cloth before taking it and lifting the pot off of the fire and poured a generous amount of hot water into the tea pot. At least when Achilles came back, he would have something to drink.

Ben was no stranger to serving those in higher positions than he, having done so as Washington's aide-de-camp before he was promoted to the head of Intelligence. Even then, it was considered a common courtesy and respect for a junior officer to vacate his seat or even serve those higher ranked than he was. It built character and there was value, especially in someone of his position, to learn secrets that others spilled freely and not realize that he was the one gathering intelligence. That was one of Sackett's first lessons and it had been extremely valuable.

He heard the familiar tapping of Achilles' cane emerge from somewhere in the house and the man himself appeared a few seconds later, looking rather annoyed and weary. However, he saw him brighten at the tea that had been steeping in the pot and moved towards it, pouring two cups and handing him one. Ben took it gratefully, sipping it and realizing that he was rather thirsty after his long day of traveling. However, he had taken his second sip and paused-

It wasn't much pounding of footsteps that alerted Ben to someone else approaching, but rather, the presence of someone rather powerful that made him look up in time to see a Native...no, a half-Native judging by the shape of his face and features, burst into the room.

"Or you can admit you are wrong," he had a surprisingly youthful voice, but there was an arrogant gruffness in it, his expression flat.

Achilles look his head, "Oh child, please, you've killed two men. One more salesman than soldier. You're going to have to try a lot harder than that to impress me."

Ben watched in mute and slightly amused fascination as the much younger man took his words as an affront and seemingly puffed his chest out, "Is that so, old man?" This young man who had the built and gait of a hunting predator, but the seemingly light-footed-ness of the legendary stealth of the natives he had heard so much about had to be Connor. "Well, perhaps we should step outside, I would gladly demonstrate how easily I could trounce-"

Ben quietly cleared his throat and finished his second sip of his tea as Connor was finally aware of his presence in the rooms. He nodded a greeting at the bewildered young native.

"Connor," Ben did not miss the smugness in Achilles' voice, "this is Benjamin Tallmadge. His father was one of us, no need for secrecy. I think he has something he wants to say."

Ben instantly recognized the change in Connor's demeanor, the sudden attentiveness, even the way Connor was trying to read him in the silent way he knew very well. His own father had taught him some of the Assassin Brotherhood's ways when he was younger, before he had considered not joining the Brotherhood. Connor was a quick student, ready and willing. In many ways, Ben knew that whatever General Putnam had told him, whatever stories of heroism and fool-hardy bravery that he had thought were just that, tall tales, it had been true. Connor had been the one to kill General Pitcairn in the middle of the Battle of Breed's Hill.

The newest plot to kill General Washington was not a lie then. And this time, Ben knew that he would not fail like he had failed Nathaniel Sackett. No one else would die under his watch.

"Achilles tells me you've uncovered a plot, to murder the Commander-in-Chief..." Ben started.

~END~


	2. The Brotherhood and the Creed

Letters Home: The Brotherhood and the Creed

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Author's Notes:**

The second story following _Prodigal_. Mention of Shay Cormac's actions in _AC Rogue_ will be referenced in this one-shot.

 **Summary:**

Connor is curious as to why Ben would not join the Assassin Brotherhood having been born into it like his father. On their journey to York City (New York), he learns about the fate of the Brotherhood before he sought out Achilles Davenport. A further elaboration on the backstory of Benjamin Tallmadge, Jr. mixing it with his backstory established in _TURN: Washington's Spies_.

* * *

 **Story:**

Connecticut was rife with both Patriots and Loyalists, and more often than not, Ben found himself looking around with more caution than he would have done on his previous journey to York City. His trips there were few and far in between and he had hoped that Abe had sent confirmation of his successful recruitment of a spy within the city. But that was not the case with Anna's message to him about Abraham's incarceration just weeks ago. He had wanted to hit something for a long time after finding out about his friend's recklessness in pretending to be a double agent.

Washington had moved to set winter camp at Valley Forge, leaving behind a small scattering of garrisons across Connecticut, but even then Ben did not want to chance running into any patrols of sorts. His was a secretive mission, and even his General did not know the full extent of what he was doing – allowing him to act in his capacity as Head of Intelligence. The only excuse he had given his General was the retrieval of Sackett's papers, but it had also been a chance for Ben to get away from Washington and cool his own head.

He knew that Sackett's death had shocked them both, and Ben had been around Washington long enough to know that he would be in a disagreeable mood for a while. He had also left because he could not bear the shame of his failure at figuring out which man had been the traitor and because of his own harsh words to his General. _"If you had let me do my job!"_ he had yelled at Washington. He knew he was going to have to take a form of punishment for yelling at the Commander-in-Chief, but also for the hurt he had seen appear on the General's face.

Ben had never wanted to hurt the man he thought of as a hero and his idol, but sometimes thought that the General was blinded by his own knowledge of all threats around him, too confident that he could deflect any attempt on his life or whittle away at his ability to command the Continental Army. He was not blind to what Sackett had been teaching him, had been encouraging him to use. He was not blind to how Washington valued his messages and information – even though those praises were very rarely spoken – and he knew that his General relied upon him. That had warmed him, that he could be an effective officer under his command as well as a confidante of sorts. He was also not blind to the gruff affection he knew his General showed him from time to time, and even welcomed it, especially when his own father had been stuck in Setauket and now in Connecticut.

But some times, like a frustrated son who did not know how to deal with a stubborn father, it was hard; like now. He knew Caleb would hold the fort and watch over Washington in his stead until he got back. They had discovered Thevenau's body with the King's seal missing and so Ben had recalled Caleb and his Dragoons back from their attempt to thwart Robert Rogers. Caleb was taking a well-deserved rest, but for now, Ben contented himself on this solo mission he undertook. Time away would heal the fresh wounds that had been inflicted.

He had given a vague answer to both Caleb and General Washington about his mission because of his hesitation in potentially open up another avenue of intelligence besides Abe and Anna. Connor and whatever was left of the Assassin Brotherhood was something he was cautiously still trying to feel out. He had spent the last few months since he had met Connor at the Davenport Homestead, in and around the Boston area observing and asking his contacts about Connor's actions there. He had then gone to where his father now lived Wethersfield, Connecticut. Ben had served as the superintendent of the high school in Wethersfield until he had taken up the Patriot cause and had his father board there under the safe watch of his former colleagues.

He knew his father was a steadfast Patriot, but when he had talked to him, he had been reminded that the Assassin Brotherhood did not readily take sides in any conflict. They had their own goals, their own creed they followed. His father had told him that the Brotherhood would use the Patriots and even the British to further their own means to an end, but the likelihood was also the same for the Brotherhood's apparent mortal enemies, the Templars.

That was why he was vague about his currently mission – the fact that the Brotherhood served their own goals meant that any information he transmitted to Connor and Achilles could in turn find their way to the British. The naivety that he had in becoming Head of Intelligence for Washington had been ripped out of him by Sackett's death and cauterized in blunt fashion. All sources of intelligence needed to be vetted and sourced. Abe's latest foolish venture made him question his friend's sanity, but he vowed to at least trust his childhood friend's information. He had not been let down by him – not yet at least. He hoped that Caleb would have come up with something clever in retrieving Abe from prison before he had left to meet Connor in York City, but there was no such luck.

He would have asked Connor himself to help rescue Abe from Sugar Hill Prison, but he had only met the Assassin once and every single one of his instincts screamed caution when dealing with Connor. There was also the matter of the letter found on Pitcarin's body that spoke of a plot against Washington. As much as it pained Ben, he knew that his priority was to his General and the plot needed to be dealt with first before he could figure out how to rescue Abe. It also did not help that York City was the heart of enemy territory that Washington had been eyeing for a while now.

Ben knew that he could only skirt the edges of the city, his face a little too well known to the British, but he would at least point Connor in the right direction to take out whomever he knew was the perceived threat to Washington's life. He never would have expected Thomas Hickey of all people, but then again, the man was close to General Lee. It was also why he had Caleb recalled quickly, to watch and eavesdrop on any information Lee might slip if and when Hickey's attempt failed.

"You know these roads well," Connor sudden comment was quiet; his enunciation precise and without even the barest hint of an accent that Ben could hear.

"I was schooled here and lived in Wethersfield for a few years before joining the Patriot cause," he replied. He was rather amazed at the lack of an accent in Connor's voice; he would have thought that someone born as a native might have an accent of sorts. But the information he had gleaned from Achilles told him that Connor's tribe was part of the Mohawk Nation, trading constantly with the frontier lands and it explained the lack of accent in Connor's voice. He still had an odd way of speaking, very formal and precise, but Ben supposed it was a quirk of sorts because English was not his first language.

"You did not join the Brotherhood?" out of the corner of his eye, he saw the white-hooded man stare at him, curiosity in his brown eyes.

"My father was an Assassin. Quite good at his job too, as I understand it," he had felt some pride at Achilles' words back at the Davenport Homestead. While he had been at his father's house in Wethersfield, had asked him about his service to the Brotherhood. His father had a surprised look on his face, but then quickly surmised that he had been to seen Achilles at the Davenport Homestead recently.

Ben was still astounded at how astute his father was, even after all these years. He would have thought that his father's retirement as a Reverend would have dulled his senses, but he supposed that Achilles had been right. His father was quick and observant, one of the Brotherhood's best during his time of service. He was also, an apparent crack shot and one of the Brotherhood's snipers as he had explained the circumstances of why he and the other Patriot-leaning families had been threatened with a hanging in Setauket. His father had said that he had been accused of shooting Judge Woodhull, but while he maintained his denials, he could not outright tell them that if he wanted Woodhull dead, he would be dead without revealing his former Brotherhood ties.

His father had explained in this day and age, the Templars were the dominant force behind the power in the Colonies. Those of the Brotherhood that had survived Shay Cormac's purge, hid in fear, passing their secrets and knowledge to their families in the hope that one day the Brotherhood would be revived. It certainly explained his childhood and training, but also why he had been sent away to boarding school and then told to seek out the secret branch while he had been at Yale. His father had told him what had happened with Shay Cormac and the downfall of the Brotherhood as well as the hindsight and lessons he had learned during his years of service. It had been a night that Ben knew he would never forget for a very long time; one that slowly closed the gulf that had been between him and his father since his childhood.

"I received some of the basic training the initiates would have gotten had I joined the Brotherhood," Ben started, looking up at the leafy trees they were passing under.

Connecticut's leaves were the best in the mid-fall season, unlike farther north where early fall was the best for viewing. But he could already smell the hint of coming rain and knew that by tomorrow, these same leaves were going to be on the ground instead. He remembered climbing all over the houses, roofs, and trees of Setauket with his older brother Samuel. Caleb, Abe, and even Anna would join them, though Anna always complained because of her petticoats. But she would at least climb on top of barrels and pretend she was with them on the roofs. It was usually Abe who helped her up. He also remembered Selah occasionally joining them, but he was the quiet sort, content to watch them from the ground. He had not thought of climbing as part of his training, but only something that his father – one of the very rare parents in Setakuet – allowed and even encouraged.

Another, was musket training from his father, and even petty thievery – though his father had told him not to tell mother and rarely allowed him to use that skill. His father though, emphasized the importance of looking for anomalies, clues, things that some would not be observant about. He had claimed it was watching out for the 'flock' of church goers, to be aware of the pulse of the community, but it was only hindsight that Ben recognized it as basic Assassin training. His friends had been jealous of the variety of skills he had that they did not when they had been playing games as children. The irony of using all of the skills learned back then now in battle and outside of it, was not lost on him.

"But all of it stopped abruptly when my father sent me away to boarding school," he continued, noting to his slight amusement that Connor was also watching the road carefully. He supposed that the Assassin's skills and senses were far sharper than his own, but did not mind. Jealousy was unbecoming of a man as he had witnessed so many times. Jealousy also revealed things about a man that were far more interesting than platitudes or base correspondence.

"What happened?"

"I did not know then, but it was around the end of the French and Indian War when the full effects of the purge of the Assassin Brotherhood was beginning to be felt. Achilles had apparently sent out correspondence to members of the Brotherhood telling them to stop their activities, to hide, that the Brotherhood was no more. My father later told me that it was because the last of the leadership of the Colonial Assassins had been slain by one of their own and was now hunting down lesser members."

"But Achilles survived?"

Ben gave Connor a look and saw the other man blink and furrow his brow. Even his father did not know how or why Achilles had survived that, but only that he resigned from the position of Mentor and apparently took no visitors to the Homestead until now. Ben had his own conclusions; that an agreement had been made between Achilles and the Templar leader, or even perhaps Achilles had bargained for his life while giving the names of others for the Templars to hunt down. But he kept those opinions to himself. He still did not know if he could trust the Brotherhood as a new source of information. The result of this mission would help his decision.

"I was discouraged from asking about the Brotherhood until when I was at Yale, I received a correspondence from my father to seek out a small group of people. I had thought that they were Patriot-leaning or even a part of the clubs I was with, but it turned out to be a small group of Assassins who survived the purge. I was invited to join, but the night of the meeting robbers apparently attacked the meeting place and slew the three men and two women who had gathered there."

"Templars," Connor growled darkly behind his hood, his eyes flashing in anger.

Ben only stared at him, "Do you know of any Templar that carries that?"

He gestured with his chin towards the heavily disguised riding gloves that hid Connor's hidden blades. At first glance it looked like ordinary riding gloves, protecting the wrists and forearm from chafing, but Ben had spotted glints of metal here and there and knew that a hidden blade was concealed on each arm. There seemed to be a mechanism of sorts on one of his arms that perhaps flipped the blade out and released it like a butterfly knife of sorts, but he was not too sure.

He knew what a hidden blade looked like after his father had presented him with the old relic the morning after their talk. Ben had declined the apparent gift, saying that he had no intention of joining his father's Brotherhood, content with associating with them on a informational basis. His father had understood and put the blade away. Ben had not denied that such a concealed weapon was inherently useful, especially for close quarters combat, but he had no desire to follow in his father's footsteps.

"No," Connor shook his head before tilting it a little, looking for a moment rather wolf-like with his sharp predatory gaze, "the one who had betrayed the Brotherhood then?"

"It would seem so," Ben nodded, "to me, it sent the message that the purge was not completed, the one hunting down the Brotherhood still hunting down its members. It seems that holding the body of a dying man knowing that you had narrowly avoided death yourself could do wonders for your outlook." He gave Connor a grim smile, "I hope to have children someday and learned that day that I would have to live in two worlds at the same time, constantly watching my back-"

"Achilles could have trained you..." Connor's voice sounded suddenly so small, so youthful and naive that Ben's grim smile turned into one of sadness. He sounded just like him before Sackett's death had erased all notion of romanticism from him. The other man's brow furrowed again in thought before he muttered something in his native language that sounded melancholic, but also sad.

"I chose to live in the one where I knew my enemy," he finished.

"I...understand," Connor replied reluctantly, absently fingering one of the threads of beads on his overcoat. Ben realized that the other man was living in the world of the Brotherhood, but also that of his native tribe. He wondered for what did he fight in to believe in the Brotherhood's goals so much.

"But I still contribute as I can," he said, forcibly brightening his voice and trying to change the subject as they continued on the road.

He hoped his offer of an olive branch told Connor that he was willing to give him intelligence and information in exchange for his help. That even though he was not part of the Brotherhood, it was still something that he cherished. The extension of trust was something he knew had to be given first before it was reciprocated. And if Connor's mission was a success, if the plot against Washington was foiled; then he knew that he could use him as a secondary source of information as well as to ease the pressures on Abe and Anna for information.

"It's why we're here now," he said and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wolfish glint of a predator in Connor's eyes. He already knew that the plot against Washington was real, now it was his turn to guide knife that would stop the plot.

~END~


	3. Predator and Prey

Letters Home: Predator and Prey

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

With Connor's capture by the Templars, Ben scrambles for a way to warn Washington of the attempt on his life by the Templars. But his plans are derailed when he discovers that Charles Lee has invited Washington to witness the execution of the 'assassin' discovered in their midst. Sequence 8, Memory 3 in Ben's POV.

 **Author's Notes:**

In AC3, Bridewell Prison is located in New York City, but for the purposes of this crossover, Bridewell Prison is just outside of York City on the Jersey side of the Hudson.

 **Story:**

* * *

The last time Ben panicked was when he had been holding the body of Betsy Andersen as she bled out all over the wooden floors of one of the many small meeting houses on Yale's campus. She had been the tailor's wife, a mother figure to the group of Assassins that had been hiding out and meeting on the campus. Ben had been beside himself, his hands sticky with her blood in an attempt to stem the wound. He remembered her telling him to hide, to leave her and never speak of this, to leave their bodies to the authorities because it was the only way he could be protected. He had not even joined them and he had felt torn and scared that she was already protecting him.

He had not panicked when he discovered Nathaniel Sackett's body in his tent. It had not been panic, but despair. That he had failed his mentor, that he had failed horrifically because for all of his training, for everything he had been taught – he had not caught the assassin in time and let him escape.

But now, Ben was very close to panicking as he saw the familiar forms of his Commander-in-Chief, his manservant Billy Lee, a small unit of bodyguards complimented by some of his Dragoons, Caleb Brewster riding amongst them. But what really sent alarm bells ringing through his head was the smiling, malevolent form of _Charles Lee_ of all people, riding next to the General. Lee was smiling gaily and gesticulating with a hand as he held Washington's attention with a conversation of sorts. Ben shifted on his saddle as he reigned in his horse, waiting for the approaching party.

He saw Caleb seek him out. As soon as their eyes met, Ben shot him a look that conveyed his unspoken words ' _what the hell was Washington doing here?!_ ' before Caleb shrugged with a grimace. His message had only been for Caleb to come, not for the General and a small entourage along with Lee, of all people, to be there. Something had happened outside of when his message had been delivered and Caleb had only managed to travel with the party, it seemed. He had been counting on Caleb's support to stage a jail break for Connor; having also alerted Achilles by way of fastest courier and General Putnam for his secret support. But the fact that Washington was here, on the day of Connor's execution did not bode well for Ben and his plans.

A part of him also railed against the fact that he could not do the same for Abe and it was only because of where the prisons of Bridewell and Sugar Hill were located. Bridewell was just outside of York City on the Jersey side of the Hudson. Easier to secure and reinforce should anything happen to Washington. Sugar Hill was deep within the heart of York City. But Ben had vowed that after Connor had gotten out of prison, he would ask for his assistance in breaking Abe out.

But now, he had to deal with the fact that his General was here, with Charles Lee of all people. Lee had also brought his newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Bradford with him and Ben frowned at the smugness in the other man's gaze and countenance. Pursing his lips, he heeled his horse and trotted to meet the party, snapping off a hasty salute to Washington.

"General," he greeted, his mind half-thinking just steps ahead of his mouth. He did not know what kinds of secrets or falsehoods Lee had been whispering into Washington's ear.

His General only nodded once, staying silent, but Ben could feel the weight of his gaze on him – calculating, questioning, and most of all, more than likely wondering what he was doing here. And that was Ben's dilemma. The last time he had spoken to his General was a vague reassurance of the retrieval of Sackett's papers, stolen by the assassin that had killed him. They had not spoken since and Ben knew that Washington had questions.

"Major Tallmadge, fancy seeing you here," Lee said loudly and Ben only managed to keep a cordial expression on his face.

His attempts to trap Lee into revealing that he was a traitor in the camp a couple of months ago had failed. It had earned Washington's ire because of his foolhardy attempt to forcibly reveal Lee's hand when his Commander-in-Chief already had his suspicions. He had learned that Washington could not prove his own suspicions without decimating the army's loyalties. That still stung, especially when Lee's man Bradford had been promoted and lauded for his actions in recent campaigns.

"Sir," he greeted Lee, "I received actionable reports that I was going to pass onto General Scott that spoke of a plot against our General here and was on my way back when I received word of your arrival. If I may ask why are you so near British lines? If the scouting reports I've received are true, then-"

"Your report is a little late then, _Major_ ," Lee said, and Ben could hear the sneer in his rank, " _my_ intelligence has caught the assassin that would have made his way to our camp in Valley Forge and slit our throats." He gestured with a hand towards the ridge that led down to Bridewell Prison, "In fact, we're on our way to oversee his execution."

"I had passed by and noticed that preparations seemed almost complete. I do not think it necessary for someone of your rank-" Ben realized that his mouth had overtaken his mind and coughed, clearing his throat roughly at the looks of mild surprise he received from both Washington and Lee, "I mean, sirs, a public execution would always have the danger of the prisoner escaping-"

Lee laughed, "Surely you do not think our men so incompetent? And if this assassin does escape, the crowd would gladly restrain him, if not outright kill him. He is, a half-breed redskin mongrel after all."

Ben hoped that his surprise did not show as he fought to keep his expression neutral. Lee knew _who_ Connor was? And had more than likely met him, judging from his vulgar description. Ben had his own prejudices against the natives of the land, their seemingly savage and foreign ways, but he did not deny their effectiveness in whatever perceived enemy they were to kill. He remembered his father's stories of natives that had joined the Brotherhood, Kesegowaase and others from his tribe, their fierceness and dedication to the Creed.

However, his knowledge was tempered by what he had seen in his hasty escape from Robert Rogers' ambush upon his men a little over a year ago. There had been natives serving amongst the Queen's Rangers and for that fact alone, he had his prejudices against their kind. The natives held no allegiances to the Patriots or Tories, and thus were a wild card that he was not willing to overlook as a threat. He supposed it extended to Connor too, considering his half-native status, but he also took into consideration the fact that Connor served the Assassin Brotherhood and had helped the Patriots to several victories. He owed Connor that much to be attempting to rescue him from the gallows.

There was also still the matter of the plot against Washington. The man that Ben had pointed Connor towards, Thomas Hickey, had thankfully been captured, but he had heard a disturbing rumor while he had been scouting out Bridewell's walls that Hickey was in collusion with a group of powerful people. People that secretly served the British, or at least had British-aligned goals. Whether or not they had pressured for Hickey's release from prison was not known, but Ben had a bad feeling about the secret power behind the British's campaign. He wanted to name them what he thought it was, but was superstitious about such things until he could accurately pinpoint it.

And he did not want his Commander-in-Chief anywhere near such shadowy power. Not until he could confirm his suspicions with Connor.

The fact that the Assassin was captured also boded some suspicion as to his abilities, having only witnessed him to the edges of York City before he seemingly blended with the crowd and disappeared from Ben's eyes to pursue the forger that was doing some errand for Hickey. Still, the way Lee had described Connor worried Ben as he nodded, "My apologies then, General Lee. I had not known whom the assassin was, only that he was caught and set to be executed."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Caleb attempting to smother his smile at his words, but at the same time look at him with some curiosity. Caleb had known _nothing_ about his mission, having only been recalled on his orders. He could see that his best friend was burning with the need to ask him questions, but also wise enough to recognize when something was amiss when he spoke. Lee however, had instantly narrowed his eyes in a shrewd manner, as if he knew a secret that Ben was not supposed to be privy to, but had apparently found out.

Ben was instantly on guard at the expression. What secret did Lee know that he was not supposed to know? And if so, how did it related to Connor and his execution and perhaps even to Thomas Hickey. But just as quickly, Lee's expression changed as he urged his horse to walk again, "Perhaps I should ensure that your scouts be put to better use than skulking around for troop numbers."

It was Ben's turn to be surprised again by Lee's words as the small entourage rode past him. He heeled his horse to join them in the rear, a soldier moving to the side to let him ride next to Caleb, just behind Washington and Lee. Everyone knew that he was the Head of Intelligence, taking over General Scott's former post and gathering all of the military scouting reports. The side business with Mr. Culper and his line of spies had been buried under the regular reports received from the scouts he sent out – so what was Lee getting at? Did the man suspect that he had spies or was the comment just to get a rise out of him? He weighed his options for a moment before deciding that Lee was only trying to get a rise out of him – he seemed more preoccupied about Connor than of the business with Culper.

As much as he disliked using people in such a manner, he knew in his heart that he would put Abe, Anna, and any others that worked with him in the Culper business ahead of Connor's concerns. And if that meant potentially feeding Connor to Lee, then he would live with it. But for now, he would at least do everything in his power to stop Connor's execution and end the threat to Washington's life.

"What's going on Ben?" Caleb hissed at him as they rode at a leisurely pace towards the execution grounds outside of Bridewell. Since the time he had left to meet with Caleb – and now with Washington's party – a raucous crowd had gathered and were a bit agitated.

"I'll explain later," Ben leaned over and whispered to Caleb, "but the man they're executing is innocent."

"I figured as much," Caleb replied quietly, "but shouldn't we be doing this, you know...?" He gestured with a shoulder towards the Hudson River and across it; where they could clearly see the buildings, fortifications, and burnt buildings from the Great Fire that made up York City.

Ben shook his head, unable to answer Caleb's question without compromising everything. "What about you?" he asked instead.

"I get the note to come here and next thing I know, Lee's barged in saying that his men caught an assassin who was going to execute Washington," his friend nodded in Washington's direction, "handed 'im a document that supposedly details the plot, or at least a confession by some witness. But then Lee looks about to leave, saying that he will make sure the assassin is executed when Washington suddenly picks up another paper says he'll go with him."

Ben blinked, surprised and glanced over to the back of his General before catching Caleb's nod.

"Me too, Benny-boy," he said, "certainly caught Lee off-guard if that'll help."

"I suppose," Ben did not feel mollified by the fact that even Lee was surprised at Washington's insistence on coming to see the execution.

In fact, it only served to make him more worried about his safety. But it also made him wonder what Washington was thinking. He knew that his reports from Abe, Anna, and Abigail were kept with the utmost secret; something that was established when he had been tasked as the Head of Intelligence, but he had also long learned that Washington himself kept a lot of things secret until there was a need for it to be revealed. His suspicions of Lee as a traitor was one. Ben sighed quietly as he adjusted himself in his saddle; he supposed that he would have to trust Washington and protect him as best as he could with the limited information he had.

The only problem was now trying to rescue Connor out from underneath Washington's nose without having Lee or even Bradford accuse him of being a traitor. If it was just Caleb here, Ben would have no problem. If Lee had been the only one here, he definitely would have no problem, but it was Washington being here that made it a problem. He did not want to put his General in a compromising situation unlike what had happened with his suspicions of Lee nor with what had happened with Sackett. But he also could not outright tell Washington that Connor was innocent since he had a feeling that his Commander-in-Chief was still furious with him. Rumors were already swirling that he was about to be dismissed as Head of Intelligence, but Ben had hesitated to confront Washington with the rumors nor had he been summoned about them. He pulled himself from his troubling thoughts as they rode into one of the side alleys and dismounted, away from the crowds. Billy Lee gathered all of the horses reigns, holding their mounts steady.

Lee gestured to Washington as they started to walk, "I had been planning to view the execution from here, Your Excellency."

He guided them around two buildings and another back alley before coming to what looked like used to be an auction platform decorated with buntings for another event. From this vantage point, Ben could clearly see the gallows in which a hangman's noose was readied along with a priest and several soldiers eyeing the crowd with wary eyes and fixed bayonets.

Beyond the gallows, several blocks away, was the gated and walled corner of Bridewell Prison. They were going to hang Connor in the middle of the town that surrounded the prison; in full view of where there had been clearly a festival to celebrate the late-fall festivities. And judging by what he saw, he suspected that the crowd was going to go straight back to the festivities as soon as the mid-morning's execution was finished. He supposed that it was a little disconcerting to see such detachment to those who were about to die; but that was not what concerned him – it was the visceral reaction from the crowd. They were frenzied, almost frothing at the mouths if such a description could be ascribed to them, yelling for the death of the savage, hateful words thrown about the air. He had never seen such hatred spew forth from anyone facing their impending execution and there was no sign of Connor yet. What had been said since he had left to get the crowd like this? No wonder the soldiers looked nervous – this was a riot waiting to happen.

A covert, sideways look at Lee told him nothing, but Ben could not shake the feeling that Lee had somehow planned all of this. He and Caleb followed in Washington, Lee, and Bradford's wake, the small contingent of bodyguards moving with them. He could see the curious looks his men, who were amongst the mixed group of bodyguards, were giving him. He knew that they were loyal to him, but even he had no answers for his men.

The crowd paid no heed to their arrival, their attention focused on the gallows and to Ben's relief, he noticed that Washington did not seem to want to draw their attention away from it. Seeing that his General was well protected by his bodyguards, Ben was about to open his mouth to take his leave to 'scout' the perimeter before Lee inclined his head towards Washington.

"Sir, by your leave, I wish to ensure that the prisoner has no chance of escaping," he gestured to the distant sight of a horse drawn covered cart arriving at the edges of the prison. Ben knew that Connor would be brought out soon.

"As you wish," Washington murmured and Lee left with a snap of the tails of his cloak. A few of his men that had accompanied him followed.

Ben gritted his teeth in frustration – he had missed his opportunity to slip out from Washington's scrutinizing gaze and instead had allowed Lee to leave to do whatever he wished. It left him with no opportunity to slip Connor out during the transfer and instead he could only walk amongst the crowd- Ben drew himself short as another plan began to form into place. It was risky, but he could technically do it if he strategically placed his own men in key places lest he be shot-

"Sir," he turned to Washington who looked at him with a mild gaze, "I would feel better if some of our men are amongst the crowd here in case a riot starts."

"Very well, you may position them as you see fit, Major," Washington replied and Ben smiled tightly to himself as he gestured wordlessly for his Dragoons and some of Washington's own bodyguards to follow him. They waded into the crowd, Caleb at his elbow as he directed several of them to form a perimeter of sorts close to Washington himself before directing the rest to scatter throughout.

"So, what's the plan?" Caleb said quietly under the guise of the noise and bodies.

"I'm going to need to borrow your coat and hat-"

"Wait, what?" Caleb stared at him, before shaking his head, instantly figuring out what he was planning, "No way, Tall-boy. You're going to get yourself shot by our boys if you think that you're going to swipe the assassin out from this crowd. Hell, some of them are already ready to shoot, so you're definitely going to get shot. What are you thinking- oof!"

Ben turned at the sound and was about to say something to whomever had ran into Caleb when he froze.

"Excuse me, good sirs," Achilles' light rasp was barely audible over the crowd, but it told Ben _everything_. He caught the flicker of confirmation in the old Assassin's eyes and nodded once before the old man hobbled away, blending almost instantly into the crowd.

"Ben?"

"Never mind then," he shook his head at Caleb's confused expression, "we should get back to Washington. Make sure he's all right."

The Assassins were here and they would free Connor. He only needed to worry about Washington and in a way Ben was glad. They had gotten his message, though he did not see General Putnam in his brief glance around the crowd. It either meant that Putnam had more pressing matters to deal with or the man was killed sometime during the war.

"You feeling all right Ben?" Caleb asked as they pushed their way back, "first you summon me back from the decoy mission without a single explanation, then you have me come here, again, without a single explanation-"

"I'll tell you when-"

"Is this something to do with some intelligence from Ab-uh, Culper?" Caleb asked, a frown on his face.

"No," Ben replied, "it's something that I was looking into on my own. Just happened to end up like this-"

"An assassin who apparently planned to kill good ole' Georgie over there and you were going to break into Bridewell Prison and spirit him away...why? What's this assassin to you?"

"Someone to help us with the Culper problem, I hope," he muttered mostly under his breath as the two of them arrived back to Washington's side and took up a sentry-like post next to his Commander-in-Chief. He nodded to Washington who nodded back once before turning his gaze to his right. Ben followed his gaze and a frown appeared on his face at the sight of Connor in chains and rags stumbling along the cobblestones. His feet was bare and he looked like he had been severely beaten. He could hear the gasps and jeers of the crowd grow wild as Connor passed by, prodded along by the bayonets on the guards' rifles.

Behind him, Ben caught Lee's slight smile as he followed in his wake. There was some one trailing behind him, but the crowd swallowed the identity of the person up. He watched with a dispassionate gaze as Connor turned the corner, not even deigning them a look as he slowly stumbled towards the gallows. A part of him itched to tell Connor that Achilles was there, that his fellow Assassins were there to help, but he could not leave his post. It was up to the Assassins now.

He watched as the crowd surged, some of them pushing past the human-formed barricade to throw things as Connor and that was when he caught the flash of the familiar-looking cane of Achilles. He smiled inwardly at the old man's actions and for a moment thought he saw several others with discreet-looking hoods in the crowd. One had a frown on his face, as if he was warring with something in him, and Ben was struck at how oddly familiar the man looked. He flicked a look at Connor and back before it hit him – the older man had similar features to Connor. But Ben was unable to ponder more about the older man, as Connor advanced up the steps to the gallows.

The crowd cheered and surged and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caleb shooting him a worried glance. He knew exactly what his best friend was thinking – why was he not doing anything if he knew the man was innocent? But their attention turned back as Lee advanced up the steps after Connor, a smirk on his face.

"Brothers, sisters, fellow Patriots," he started grandly as Ben watched Connor glared out at the crowd, his dark eyes defiant, "several weeks ago we learned of a scheme so vile, so dastardly – that even repeating it now, disturbs my being." He paced the length of the gallows with the familiar hangman's hood in his hands. The crowd cheered and hung onto his every word, "The man before you plotted to murder our much beloved General."

Ben pressed his lips into a thin line as a light drizzle started up and the crowd started to boo at the news. This all but confirmed his suspicions that Lee _knew_ about this plot and he suspected, more than likely orchestrated it. But his theatrics here proved otherwise to anyone not privy to the information he had found out.

"Indeed. What darkness or madness moved him, none can say. And he himself offers no defense. Shows no remorse. And though we have begged and pleaded with him to share what he knows-"

He could not stop the snort of disbelief that issued through his mouth at Lee's honeyed words.

"-he maintains a deadly silence," Lee drew the hood down on Connor's head and reached out for the noose placing it with speedy efficiency on Connor's neck, tightening it. "If the man will not explain himself – if he will not confess and atone – what other option do we have but this? He sought to send us into the arms of the enemy! And thus, we are compelled by justice to send him from this world." The crowd chanted louder and louder, but Ben could hear some prayers being murmured as everyone knew that Connor's death was imminent.

"May God have mercy on your soul," Lee pronounced and the trap opened.

It was almost too fast for Ben to follow, but in hindsight, he supposed it was the basic training he had received from his father that enabled him to pick out the known Assassin signal. There was the barest flick of a wrist that sent a knife through the air, cutting through the hewn rope like warm butter. At the same time, he thought he heard the phantom piercing whistle of an eagle, but thought it was his imagination. What wasn't his imagination was the utter _chaos_ that exploded in the gallows and crowd below as Connor was freed. Panic filled the air as several screamed.

For Ben, it was as if time had infinitely slowed to a crawl. His immediate concern was for his General's safety and just as he turned to shout for Caleb and the others to take Washington far away from this place, he saw the familiar glint of the end of a musket out of the corner of his eye. His thoughts caught up with him half a second later as he realized the musket was pointed at _Washington_ himself. Whomever was the assassin was using the chaos of Connor's escape to finish the deed and Ben automatically lunged towards his Commander-in-Chief.

Ben knew his actions were improper, but he was only reacting on instinct. He saw the startled look on Washington's face just as he managed to grab the other man's cloak and one of his arms and using his momentum, shoved them to the side- Something hit him, pain briefly flaring before disappearing as they tumbled to the ground. But Ben had already let go and was rolling to his feet, spinning around to draw his sword and pistol-

He was too late.

Thomas Hickey had abandoned his rifle and leveled dual pistols at him and at Washington. There was a sinister-looking satisfied smile on his face as he drew back the flintlocks-

And just as suddenly spurted blood from his lips. Hickey fell forward, the pistols dropping from his suddenly limp hands and Ben's eyes widened in shock at the sight of a tomahawk embedded deep in the man's back. Beyond him was the bloodied visage of Connor, his arm still stretched out when he had thrown the tomahawk. Blood coated and caked the Assassin's ragged shirt, arms, and pants. Flecks of it were smeared across his face. He looked like a madman as he towered over Hickey's body. His eyes were focused on Hickey, but Ben saw them flick up towards him and could only blink at the sheer ferocity in them. He had a sense of mutual reassurance pass through that quick gaze before he sensed someone running up from behind.

He turned and only managed to barely stop himself from skewering the familiar sight of General Israel Putnam. The gruff General deigned to ignore him as he ran past, waving his arms at the soldiers that had converged on Connor and a dying Thomas Hickey.

"Don't shoot! This man is a _hero!_ "

Ben watched as the soldiers looked at each other in confusion before slowly lowering their weapons and it was only then that he sheathed his own sword and holstered his pistol. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief as he saw that Connor had knelt down next to Hickey, seemingly giving the man his last rites or was talking to him as Putnam continued to reassure the soldiers that had gathered. Seeing that Putnam had everything under control, Ben turned and gestured to General Washington.

"We should be seeing you back to camp sir. General Putnam seems to have the situation under control, but we don't know if there are others who are planning to kill you, sir," he said respectfully gesturing to the back alleys where he knew Billy Lee was waiting with their horses.

Washington looked troubled for a moment, staring beyond Ben before looking at him, his gaze shrewd and calculating. "Yes, I believe that would be wise," he said.

Ben did not know what thoughts his Commander-in-Chief was thinking, but he allowed the other man to examine him as he saw fit. Apparently something seemed to have agreed with Washington as he abruptly turned and walked back the way that they had come from. Ben trailed behind, wincing as he felt a sudden sting on his right side and glanced down to see the blues of his jacket a lot darker than normal.

He peeled back the cloth and grimaced as he saw blood soaking through the rest of his clothes. A quick brush of the wound made him grimace, but he thought he did not feel a ragged hole, nor the quick hitching pain that he knew was from a ball lodged in his body. Plus, it did not hurt as much as his shoulder wound had when he had been shot by Robert Rogers. It must have grazed him then, but the amount of blood already soaking through his clothes worried him.

"Ben!" Caleb's call made him look up to see his friend wave at him, wondering what kept him before his eyes fell on the blood that was clearly soaking through his clothes. Before Ben could tell him that it was nothing serious, Caleb ran over, concern in his eyes, "Shite, geez Ben-"

"It's fine," Ben waved away Caleb's hands as he lowered his jacket, the dark blues thankfully covering most of the blood soaking through. To the casual viewer, it was not noticeable, but Ben caught his friend's frown. "Seriously, it's fine. Just a graze-"

"Yeah, bleedin' a lot," Caleb glared at him before Ben pushed past him and hurried to where he knew Washington and the others were more than likely waiting. He heard his friend scramble to catch up to him as they rounded the corner and to his chagrin, Washington, Lee, Bradford, and the others _were_ already waiting for them. Lee looked angry and it mollified him somewhat. If it was truly Lee's plan to have Connor executed, then he was glad that his plan had been thwarted and the real assassin killed. There was no proof, but Ben was determined to find one connecting Hickey to Lee and to the letter found on Pitcairn's body.

"My pardon, Your Excellency, I was ensuring that we had no pursuers," Ben lied as he quickly climbed onto his mount, forcing himself to not grimace at the sharp pain of his wound. He could feel the cold wetness of the blood that had soaked into his clothes touching his skin. It was definitely bleeding a lot more than a bullet graze would, but Ben resolutely ignored it. He wheeled his horse around as Washington set off, following behind as they thundered out of the area and back towards Valley Forge.

* * *

The ride was long, hard, and arduously painful for Ben when they finally arrived at camp in the dead of night. Each jolt of hooves touching the ground had sent sharp ripples of agony up and down his right side. He supposed it was small miracles that the bitter late autumnal cold had numbed him to the feeling of blood seeping into his clothes. When they finally thundered into camp, all Ben could think about was his tent and a chance to sleep away the pain.

Reigning his horse to a stop, he made to dismount like the others when he suddenly froze at the sharp white-hot agony that hit him. It nearly made him reel in his saddle as he had tried to dismount on his injured side. It was only Caleb's voice calling to him from what seemed to be like a long tunnel that he managed to blink and shake his head from the fog he was seemingly in to see his friend staring up at him with some concern on his face.

"Hey Ben, come on...I'll help you off," Caleb had already dismounted and gestured with his hands for him to take them. It was only then that he realized the blood had seeped a large splotch of red down the right side of his pants. Ben knew that some would scoff at the help, but he owed Caleb so much more than that and leaned over to take his friend's hand as he gingerly pulled himself from the saddle, grimacing at sharp needles of pain that shot into him at his movement.

"That's it...that's it, just take it easy...and...there ya go," Caleb said as he finally got off his horse and immediately felt one of his arms being looped around his friend's broad shoulders and neck.

Ben took the silent offer of Caleb's weight and leaned heavily against him, trying to take the weight off of his right leg. He was distantly aware that the others were staring, but was in too much pain to care at the moment as Caleb gently limped him towards the direction of the medical tents. The only thing he cared about was that Washington was safe and that the plot had been thwarted.

If he had turned around right then and there, he would have seen his beloved General's face etched with a fatherly concern and worry for the man who had saved his life.

* * *

General George Washington summoned his Head of Intelligence three days later and told him he was to be sent to Boston to inspect the troops before the start of the New Year. Benjamin Tallmadge took it as a failure on his part for not telling him the truth about the plot to murder him, his failure in preventing Sackett's assassination, and the fact that he had not been able to handle Abraham Woodhull's escapades as a false double-agent. What he did not know was that Washington had taken all those factors into consideration, but also wanted to send his favorite officer to safety, if only for a little while.

~END~


	4. Letters Into the Past

Letters Into the Past

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

An extended conversation between Ben and Caleb at the Connecticut camp when they find Hewlett's "grave."

 **Story:**

* * *

"So? Why don't you get that Indian you seem to be chummy with and decided to try to do a rescue attempt back at Bridewell?" Caleb nudged the black and white charred remains of a log that crackled and popped with still burning embers. "Didn't you say that you think the guy would help us with the Culper problem?"

Ben rubbed his eyes, the frustration at the situation giving him a headache. "I _tried_ ," he said tiredly. "Sent a letter after we got back to camp asking for his help. Got a reply back saying he was somewhere between here and Boston which really means nothing because he can't be found."

"What," he glanced up and saw the most peculiar expression on Caleb's face as he absently nudged the charred log once more, "what's one Indian hard to find in between here and York City? I thought you knew him, Ben?"

"Caleb?" Ben frowned, staring at his friend with some puzzlement.

"Want to tell me what's going on, yeah? New agent that you're trying to recruit for this?" he gestured in between them and Ben worked his jaw a little as he realized what he was hearing in Caleb's voice. Jealousy...frustration, anger...

"Caleb," he shook his head, "Connor isn't part of this. He's..." He paused for a second as he tried to figure out what was he wanted out of Connor versus what the Assassin had possibly consider giving him. Their ride to New York had been mostly in silence save for the brief spate of conversation regarding his father's service to the Brotherhood. Ben had only learned that Connor was part of the Kanien'kehá:ka tribe, which was in turn part of the overall Mohawk nation. His mother had died at the hands of assailants that had burned his village and he swore revenge on them and was sent to train with Achilles several years after that. Connor said that the Templars, the ancient enemies of the Assassins, had burned his village and since they were siding with the British, he would help the Patriot cause to ruin their goals.

Other than that, the rest of their ride to New York had been in mutual contented silence, each one of them sizing the other up. Ben had piece together the rumors and stories he had heard about Connor from others, while also taking into consideration the intelligence the man had gathered as well as what he had known about the Assassins as a whole. He had no doubts that Connor was doing the same to him as they had ridden. His rescue of Connor had been in the mutual hope that he would stop the plot to assassinate Washington, and with Thomas Hickey dead, the plot had been stopped.

The fact that Achilles' letter back to him said that Connor was somewhere in between here and Boston did not bode well for Ben finding him and asking him to help him in rescuing Abe. Nor did it do any favors to endear Connor to him. In fact, it felt more like a dead end than anything. And that was part of the frustration he was feeling. Washington's dismissal of him from camp at Valley Forge on the pretense of check troop status in Boston took up most of the frustrating hurt he was feeling. But now with Caleb looking at him like he had broken a bond of trust between them...

He shook his head again, hanging his head a little as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to alleviate the growing headache, "Connor's a dead end. I had hoped he would help us...but..."

"Why," his friend stood near him with his arms crossed. It forced him to look up at him, squinting a little against the bright cold sun that filtered through the trees, but Ben was too mentally exhausted to stand up. "You want to tell me what's been going on these last few months Ben?"

Ben pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew he could easily deflect Caleb's question as his capacity as Head of Intelligence...or rather ex-Head of Intelligence considering Washington's ire. He could say that it was war time secrets. Caleb would understand the value of it and would not press, but at the same time Ben knew that he could not do that to his best friend. Not with what they both had been through – not with him pouring out his frustration to Caleb about Washington sending him away to Boston of all places for the winter. Not with the two of them agreeing to the beginnings of a plan that landed with Abe as their spy and creating the chain of intelligence that led to Washington's eyes only. No, Caleb had the right to know...

But Ben could feel it in his heart that he was not ready to tell his best friend everything. Caleb did have the right to know, but not the full truth. Not yet.

Not until he was sure of Connor, of the plot against Washington had been thoroughly neutralized, until he was sure that the shadowy force behind Charles Lee was what he feared – the Templars. He was afraid that if he brought Caleb into this new conspiracy, told him about the Assassins, he would end up dead like Betsy Andersen and the small group of Assassins at Yale. That he would end up holding the body of his friend and not-by-birth brother in his arms. Just because he had foolishly dragged Caleb into it.

Because he still remembered the words of wisdom his father had said as he had served the Assassins. _Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent_. Caleb was far from innocent, having shed blood like him, but he _was_ innocent from the ancient war that was between the Assassins and Templars. Ben was not formally part of the Brotherhood, declining membership, but he had no doubts of what had happened at Bridewell had more than likely piqued the Templars interest. If they were the shadowy power behind Charles Lee, then he would be expecting something from Lee. That was the threat he could see, but he had his suspicions that others lurked in the darkness. Intelligence from Anna's former house slave Abigail had already confirmed Lee as a traitor, but if Washington would not act, would not do anything, then he would try his best to root out and force Lee to show his true colors – even if it meant going through a more unconventional path and asking Connor and the Assassins for their help.

"No, eh?" Caleb suddenly said, "thought so..."

Ben realized that he had been silent the whole time he was lost in his thoughts and scrambled to his feet, ignoring the slight way his right hip caught the flash of pain from his nearly-healed wound. It had been aching since their ride here and the camp's doctor did say that he should not ride for a long time while it was still healing. But the doctor had also told him that when the aches and pains were gone, he could ride as much as he wanted to. He grunted a little and held up his hand to ward away Caleb's sudden look of concern.

"I'm fine," he said, "and to answer your question, Connor is an Assassin."

"Who got himself caught," his friend stepped back as he righted himself, a bemused expression on his face.

"No, no," Ben realized that Caleb had taken his word 'assassin' the wrong way, "I mean, he's part of a group that calls themselves the Assassin Brotherhood."

"So, he's not an assassin?"

"He is," Ben opened his mouth and closed it as he realized he had confused his friend, "look, he's definitely an assassin, but he's also an Assassin. They're a group of people who have their own interests, but right now seems like they're on our side."

"Right...now..." Caleb said slowly with an eyebrow raised, "but they could change sides...?"

"They probably won't," Ben shook his head, "but the thing is that they're like independent agents with their own goals. I sought them out since one of them actually got some intelligence off of Pitcairn that spoke of a conspiracy against Washington's life."

"Connor? The Indian?"

"Yes," Ben replied, "field reports said that Pitcairn was killed in action by some stray bullet or shrapnel while fighting on Breed's Hill, but General Putnam's report said otherwise. He thought he saw Pitcairn killed by a blade first before someone shot a bullet into the body."

He had only glanced the report on Sackett's desk while the two of them had been figuring out which soldier had been telling the truth about the assassin that had sneaked into camp. The report was one of many that had been missing after the assassin had fled after killing Sackett. In hindsight, he had no doubts that was what had made Lee draw Connor into his trap in York City. It also explained why Sackett, of all people, had such a report amongst the intelligence gathered from scouts and sources that he did not know about. Since he had learned from Achilles that Sackett himself was part of the Brotherhood, it made more sense. Either Connor or Achilles must have asked General Putnam to send the particular missive telling him about Pitcairn's unusual death instead of putting it in his reports to Washington. He did not know what Sackett had planned to do with the report, but he suspected it might have been related to the ancient feud between the Templars and Assassins.

"That someone was Connor? He got close enough to kill Pitcairn like that?" Caleb blinked, surprised.

Ben nodded in agreement. He knew exactly what his friend was thinking. How could someone like Connor get so close enough to literally stab Pitcairn in the back or even throw a knife that far? Ben knew that Caleb's aim with his tomahawk was pretty accurate, but even so, Putnam's report spoke of a sharp single stab wound, not a broad slice like what an ax could do. The other thing was the escape. After visibly killing Pitcairn in the middle of his camp, Connor somehow escaped unscathed and even brought back the letter found on the man's body.

Caleb gave a low whistle after a few seconds, shaking his head in disbelief. "I would definitely not like to meet someone like him in the back alleys of York City or something." A crooked smile suddenly worked its way up the corner of his lips, "Or probably yeah, definitely would. No wonder you thought he could be a help to the whole problem with Abe."

"Someone who could go from visible to inconspicuous could easily get a man out of York City," Ben shrugged, nudging the tail end of the log that Caleb had been kicking around back into its former fire pit.

"Yeah, but Benny-boy, you're forgetting, he got caught and you were thinking of breaking him out," his friend pointed out, "it means he's not perfect-"

"Or that General Lee knows something we don't," Ben muttered mostly under his breath before catching Caleb's quizzical look at him and shook his head, "Lee did say that he caught the assassin."

"Lee knows this Connor?"

"I have no idea," he half-lied. It was true from a certain point of view. He did not know what connection Lee had to Connor, but judging by Lee's speech during Connor's execution, he got the strong sense that the feeling was very mutual. The other thing was his suspicions of Lee and the seemingly shadowy power behind him, driving him to do all of this and betray Washington.

He saw Caleb give him a calculated look before nodding reluctantly, "I know you're still keeping something from me, but I'm not going to press, not now." His best friend chuckled lightly, "There's a story there Benny-boy. I can hear it and see it. You don't normally go out of your way to bring someone in on secrets unless you know them. Maybe it's with this Connor, maybe not. Maybe it's with this...Assassin order-"

"-Brotherhood," Ben corrected him automatically.

"-Brotherhood," Caleb nodded once, "but since you're saying that you can't find Connor, we're going to have to think of something to get Woody outta jail, especially with Hewlett dead."

Ben could feel the headache coming back as he rubbed his temple absently and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed, "With Hewlett dead, Abe's just a good as dead-"

"No...not really," he glanced back up and saw his friend with a half-smile on his face, his eyes staring at something he was not seeing, "Sackett still has the Turtle back at Morristown."

Ben blinked, "The what?"

"Come on, I'll show ya," he grinned, "it'll be the easiest thing to get into York City and then Abe outta jail." Ben followed him out of the decimated camp and back to their horses. Trust Caleb to come up with another solution. Maybe it was for the better that he not involve himself too much in the Assassin Brotherhood's affairs by asking Connor for his help. But he still could not help but worry about the shadowy power behind Charles Lee – he did not want to name them Templars, but he also knew that until he got a confirmation from Connor or Achilles, he would have to tread carefully.

~END~


	5. This Lonely Isolation

Letters Home: This Lonely Isolation

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Connor is curious about the man who is General George Washington's Head of Intelligence and so goes in search for him at Valley Forge. What he finds instead, is a General who sent his favorite officer away to protect him, if only for a little while.

 **Author's Notes:**

Sequence 9, Mission 1 extended conversation. Post-Episode 8 Providence. Also, first story in series to be from a POV other than Ben's! Mentions of Washington's half-brother Lawrence and his connections to the Templars are based off of _AC Rogue_.

 **Story:**

* * *

The supplies had been secured and Connor had hailed a small scouting patrol he found nearby. They were to keep an eye on the storehouse where Benjamin Church's men had taken the supplies to as he returned to Valley Forge to let General Washington know of the good news. As he trotted back to camp on his horse, he considered Haytham's proposal to meet in New York to hunt down Church, the offer of his father's – and by extension, the Templars' – resources. Perhaps it was the fruit of temptation Father Timothy had been preaching last week at his church. Connor was not a believer, but he did occasionally listen in from the door to the church to the Father's sermons – finding his own words of wisdom in the Bible the others of the Homestead held so dear.

He could already hear Achilles' phantom voice in his head chastising him for even considering joining forces with Haytham, but he was also willing to listen to reason – if not a temporary truce. In a way, if Haytham was willing to help him kill Church, then he did not see it as a problem in his eventual quest to hunt down Charles Lee. In fact, if it deprived the British of a resource, and also the Templars while helping the Patriots – by extension, Washington - then it would only serve to tighten the noose on Lee's neck.

Of course, he also knew that he could not outright say something like that to General Washington without condemning himself and therefore letting Lee escape his clutches. Plus, he was rather curious about how easily Washington had entrusted him with this simple task when he had only first met the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army during his botched execution.

He suppose that Washington's man, Benjamin Tallmadge, must have spoken to his leader in the interim. Oddly enough, he had not seen Tallmadge when he had first arrived and wondered if the other man was out gathering intelligence or perhaps even on a patrol.

Connor had only learned recently that Achilles, his fellow Assassin recruits, and General Putnam had been summoned to Bridewell Prison by Tallmadge's letters to them. He had hoped to convey his thanks and appreciation for what the other man had done to help him escape. Connor hoped that when he returned, Tallmadge would be there – otherwise he would inquire as to his whereabouts.

"Hail and ho there!" one of the guards greeted him as he crested a small ridge, his horse whickering with some displeasure at the muddy slushy snow that melted a little during the bright daylight sun. It would freeze later tonight, he could already feel the lowering chill of the waning afternoon light.

"Hello to you too," he greeted the guard who nodded and waved him through, recognizing him from when he had left early in the morning after a night's rest at the camp. He directed his horse through the encampment, arriving at the farmhouse that served as both Washington's general quarters and command post. As he crested another small hill, he saw that several tents were set up in the back of the farmhouse and inwardly smiled. The sudden slam of a door from the farmhouse made him look to see one of Washington's aide-de-camps rush out with a handful of papers; more than likely delivering messages to the Marquis de Lafayette who was drilling the soldiers. Connor dismounted and tied his horse up to the post before rounding the outside of the building and headed back towards the large tent that had been pitched next to several smaller ones.

It seemed Washington had taken his own words to heart and decided to set up his post outside to ensure that the men understood he too would suffer the cold with them. The sight of such devotion to his soldiers made him question the validity of Haytham's words about the man's competency in leading the Continentals, but he pushed the thought to the side. He would contemplate Haytham and his proposal later.

Walking towards the tents, he saw the General's Lifeguards go on alert, staring at him with narrowed-eyed gazes. He returned their stares with an open one before stopping by the flap. "I have news for the General," Connor said quietly and the two guards silently answered their negative by pointedly staring at the sheer amount of open weaponry he had on him.

Washington had been walking amongst his men earlier when Connor had happen to run into him by chance and received his request to find the missing supplies. His Lifeguards had dutifully hung back as he had conversed with the Commander-in-Chief, but even then, he had felt the heat of their suspicious gaze. He considered just leaving a message right then and there and to instead, find Benjamin Tallmadge when the tent flap flipped open and Washington's manservant, Billy Lee stepped out.

"The General is waiting for him," he addressed the two Lifeguards who reluctantly nodded and finally stepped to the side, allowing him to enter.

"We received word that one of our patrols found something by a storehouse near the Schuylkill River," the dark-skinned manservant said and Connor inclined his head once.

"I had asked that they keep an eye on the missing supplies," he replied before nodding to Washington who was peering over several maps spread out on another table. Red and blue tokens littered the maps, denoting army strength and placement of troops. The tent itself smelled a little like wet oilskin, but it was far warmer in the tent than outside. "General."

"Thank you," Washington did not look up, "I will send a messenger out tonight with orders for the patrol to stay where they are tonight and will send more men tomorrow to pick up our missing supplies." The General flicked a quick look at him and a small pleased smile appeared on his face, "Your help was greatly appreciated, Connor."

"The threat to your life has not abated, General," Connor said bluntly and saw Washington stare at him with a look he could not quite comprehend. "Thomas Hickey was part of a far larger plot that threatens this war."

"I know of spies within my camp-"

"Not British spies. They are a part of a growing conspiracy that is beyond the British."

Washington only stared at him with the same unreadable expression, before setting down a small token he had been holding, "Your ancient enemy, the Templars."

Connor stared, surprised at what he heard. "Your man, Tallmadge told you of them."

However, instead of a confirming nod, or even acknowledgment of such information, Washington frowned, "Major Tallmadge has not disclose any such information to me, nor have I known of any connection the Major has with the Templar Order or Assassin Brotherhood."

Connor immediately realized he had misspoke and had also inadvertently revealed something about Tallmadge that he had a feeling he should not have. But surely Washington had known of Tallmadge's connections and familial history? Was that not why he had him appointed as his Head of Intelligence?

"In fact, Major Tallmadge is currently headed to Boston to oversee the troop status before he is to return here. He is no longer my Head of Intelligence due to his failure in controlling certain elements he should have controlled in the first place," the General said pointedly and heatedly.

But there was something there that Connor could not quite catch, as if it was the barest wisp of a lie. He flickered his gaze into his Eagle Sense, and definitely saw the sliver of something that rang false in Washington's words. Washington himself was a golden hue, which meant that he had information, but suddenly flickered into pale blues of an ally which meant that he was not going to reveal anymore than what he had said. Connor pulled out of his Eagle Sense and tilted his head in acknowledgment.

"I am sorry then, for my words," he apologized, "but I must know, how did you come by such information."

The man gave him a very long assessing look before answering, his words most definitely chosen carefully. "My older brother Lawrence had dealings with the Templars and Assassins before he died. He kept me out of most of it, but I have ears and a sense of the politics behind each force of power," the older man gave him a small mysterious smile, "I was also introduced to a one Nathaniel Sackett who eventually told me of his ties to your Brotherhood. Perhaps it had been he who had told the Major about the Assassin Brotherhood and the Templars before he had passed."

Connor did not answer and hoped that his growing surprise did not show on his expression. He did not know who this Nathaniel Sackett was; even Achilles never mentioned him, but it seemed like the man was a part of the Assassin Brotherhood. He had thought that all of the Assassins had been wiped out by the traitor who had purged them during the French and Indian War years before. Though he supposed members like Tallmadge's father had survived, so what was it not to say that Sackett was part of the Brotherhood, except had hidden from those who wanted to kill him.

"Mr. Sackett asked for my protection and was willing to trade his knowledge and expertise on the subjects of espionage and intelligence gathering methods employed by the Brotherhood," Washington continued before his lips twitched into a melancholic frown, "alas, I was not able to prevent a simple British assassin from killing him in the end."

"I am sorry to hear that," Connor offered and Washington nodded gratefully before walking over to his desk and pulled open a drawer. He rummaged around it for a few seconds before pulling out a familiar-looking vambrace with the hidden blade nestled around it.

"I believe this should go back to the Brotherhood," the General offered and Connor took it, the design similar to one of his own, except the leather vambrace was far more worn than his own. "Mr. Sackett had given it to me saying that I needed to protect myself and that in the persona he was to present to the rest of my camp that a doddering old fool would not even be looked at twice for being the spymaster of the Continentals. He said that I would be a greater target, but I regret to say that I do not even have the training to wield such a weapon like this."

Connor had to agree with Washington's assessment. Even if he had the training, he knew that if the man were to ever show himself with such a weapon, even concealed underneath his uniform, it would paint a rather large target on his back. It would give even more incentive to Charles Lee and the Templars that were within the Continentals an excuse to kill him just for their Templar ideals. Essentially, it would have signaled to them that Washington was an Assassin, even if he was never formally inducted into the Brotherhood. It also would endanger the officers and men who served in Washington's army. They were innocent from the hidden war behind the fight for independence and people like Tallmadge did not deserve the scrutiny of being thrown blindly into such an ancient and long conflict.

He glanced up at Washington and saw the calculating shrewdness in the man's eyes. He suspected that the General also knew it as well, which was why he was returning Sackett's blade. Connor's opinion of him soured somewhat, the calculating persuasiveness reminding him greatly of Samuel Adams' flippancy in manipulating the crowd with some truth-bending ways. He had been hoping the General was open and honest, but at the same time did not deny the fact that Washington did really care for the men under his command.

A thought occurred to him. He could see genuine truth in the man's words, even if they were shaded with other layers of concealed truth. The man cared deeply...and deeply enough that he had caught the terrified fear in Washington's eyes as Thomas Hickey had pointed his pistols at him and Tallmadge at Bridewell before he sunk his blade into the other man. And it was not fear for his own life that he had seen. No, Connor had seen that fear directed at Tallmadge, already wounded from the graze a bullet he more than likely did not feel because of the heady rush of battle; wounded by protecting his General.

Though any other man in their capacity as Head of Intelligence would have investigated any attempt on the Commander-in-Chief's life, Connor knew as much that not many would have taken the words of an Assassin or known of the Brotherhood to do it in that manner. Tallmadge had personally come to deliver Putnam's pistols to him at the Homestead, had accompanied him to the edges of New York, had even sent letters to Achilles and Putnam to help rescue him – all to ensure that the threat to his General was neutralized. And he knew that because while he could have said it was simply because Tallmadge requested his services, it was more because it was for his General.

That was devotion. That was beyond the simple devotion of a soldier to the Commander-in-Chief of an army.

And Connor realized what was shadowed behind the flickering golden-yellow of information he had gotten from his Eagle Sense when he used it to discern Washington's intentions. Washington was protecting Tallmadge – whether it was from the looming threat of Charles Lee or even the Assassins and Templars – he was protecting him by sending him briefly away, if only for a short time.

"Isolating him from such information is dangerous," Connor changed tactics and saw the bloom of surprise briefly fill the General's face before he managed to resume a more neutral expression.

"As I had said, he is not my Head of Intelligence anymore," the other man countered, his eyes flashing angrily. And there was the lie, bold as the truth if Connor had ever seen one. The message was also clearly conveyed – do not involve the Major in any of these affairs anymore.

"Then it is the loss of a valuable ally," he replied before nodding curtly and spun on his heel, leaving quickly. He saw Billy Lee step to the side to get out of his way before he pushed the tent flap open and marched out. If Washington wanted to be stubborn, then he would let him. The man had shown that he was willing to confront his own problems with Lee head on and Connor knew that the opportunity would present itself in order to let him strike his own blow against Lee soon enough.

On the subject of Major Benjamin Tallmadge, Connor also knew that he would not follow Washington's orders. The man held no allegiance to him, nor did he in return. But he also knew that for the amount of devotion each man had shown the other, if he did not keep Tallmadge appraised of the situation with Charles Lee, then Tallmadge might one day find himself in the same tragic situation Connor had found his mother in. And it would once again, be Charles Lee's fault. Neither Washington nor Tallmadge were related, but Connor could already see the bonds of friendship and devotion that drew and push each other away – it was, after all like the one he had with Achilles.

And after what had happened earlier, Connor much considered Achilles his father more than his sire, Haytham Kenway.

~END~


	6. Letters Into the Past II

Letters Home: Letters Into the Past – Part 2

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Achilles visits Reverend Nathaniel Benjamin Tallmadge, Sr. in his home in Wethersfield, Connecticut while Connor is at Valley Forge. What he finds is a man who is equally protective of his remaining son as he is of the Brotherhood's secrets and former life.

 **Author's Notes:**

This story references a lot of _Assassin's Creed Rogue_ in terms of Lawrence Washington's backstory from that game, Shay Cormac's actions, and Achilles' actions in that game.

 **Story:**

* * *

The house was rather plain and inconspicuous with white paint and black shutters. At first glance, it was a house that looked very much like the others and deterred those who may have wished harm on the occupants. He supposed that it was the point of the house, considering the others he had seen in Wethersfield on his way here. A very small part of Achilles wondered just how much was the younger Tallmadge taught by his father before he had left for boarding school and from there, Yale. An even smaller part scoffed at his notion and considered he might have been over-thinking things. But he buried that part deeply as he knew the occupant in the house would have chosen such plain cover to protect himself no matter what – the lessons learned by joining the Brotherhood were never forgotten after all.

"Thank you Duncan," he could feel the Assassin behind him, ready to assist him up the small stone steps towards the door. A small layer of hard-packed snow on the path to the front door had long frozen, leaving it a slightly precarious walk from the carriage to the front door. Achilles waved away the Assassin's help, but was inwardly touched that the younger man had insisted on accompanying him. Connor had found a good man for the Brotherhood, along with Stephen Chapeau and the others he had recruited. But he had learned that Duncan Little had a more extraordinary connection to the Assassins because of what the current Grand Master of the Templars had done when he was a little boy. Such violence, like watching his uncle die in front of his eyes, should never be visited upon such people, but Achilles supposed it was a sign from whatever deities or maybe the Precursors, that Haytham had not killed Duncan Little at the opera house years ago.

"It is nothing of consequence, Mentor," Duncan murmured his reply as Achilles knocked gently on the door.

There was a muffled noise of someone possibly saying 'I got it' before the door opened and Achilles smiled slightly at the sight of an aged, but not forgotten face of his long-time friend and former student. "Hello, old friend," he greeted.

"Mentor," Reverend Nathaniel Benjamin Tallmadge, Sr. breathed out quietly before remembering his manners and opened the door wider, gesturing with a hand for him to come in. "Where are my manners? Please, do come in."

"Thank you," he replied as he hobbled in, wincing at the old aches and pains the winter was causing on his bones, especially his leg. He heard Duncan follow him in before the door was shut and one of Tallmadge's servants attempted to take his jacket, but Achilles waved him away. He saw the brief confused look come over the fellow African's face at the seemingly deferential status he had been conferred upon by Tallmadge and by Duncan, but resolutely ignored it. He had long seen the surprise on people's faces that a black man such as himself was treated with such respect and while Achilles knew that he wanted to do something about it, his priorities and heart laid with the Brotherhood. Once the world was free of Templar influences, then there would be time to right the social injustices of the world brought on by Templar machinations.

He shrugged out of his jacket, letting Tallmadge take it instead, along with Duncan's, before the man gestured for them to enter his sitting room where a great hearth of fire was roaring and crackling already. Achilles hobbled over to the hearth and sat down on one of the high-backed plush chairs, relaxing a little as Duncan warmed his hands against the fire. He knew the young Assassin had questions as to why he had been tasked with taking him to this particular house for no apparent reason, but had learned to stay his questions with careful observation.

"I had not expected you to visit, sir," Tallmadge came back in, bearing a tray of tea and some shortcakes, "though perhaps that was not exactly what I meant."

"Your son talked to you then," Achilles surmised and saw the elder Tallmadge nod once as he poured the fresh pot of tea and gave one to him and to Duncan. Achilles declined the offer of shortcakes, but Duncan took one before moving to seat himself on another seat next to Achilles.

"That too, had been a surprise, though not unwelcome," Tallmadge finished pouring his own cup before taking the seat opposite his own and gestured with a chin towards Duncan, "is this-"

"Duncan Little, sir," the Assassin reached over and shook Tallmadge's extended hand, "Mentor Davenport's apprentice Connor recently recruited me into the Brotherhood."

"Connor's dealing with some business in General Washington's camp," Achilles offered and saw a wistful smile appear on Tallmadge's face.

"It is a pity I cannot meet your new apprentice, Mentor. But I am sure that he and my son will get along," Tallmadge took a sip of his tea before tilting his head a little, "but I am sure you did not come all this way to tell me this?"

Achilles could not kill the involuntary smile that split his face. Tallmadge was still as astute and sharp as the day he had entered into the service of the Assassins long before the French and Indian War. "I see the years have been kind to your skills as ever, Tallmadge." He saw the corner of wry smile appear on the corner of Tallmadge's face as he continued, "Duncan here has some sharp eyes. I would have asked one the Brotherhood's other recruits, Clipper Wilkinson to teach Duncan here, but he has been dealing with an on-going issue in Rhode Island. I would be grateful if you could help nurture his skills for the next few days."

Tallmadge took a quiet sip of his tea as he contemplated the offer in quiet silence. Achilles was inwardly pleased that his former apprentice had learned well over the years how to conceal his true feelings as well as to hide all his thoughts behind a placid facade. He supposed that it was what enabled Tallmadge to survive undetected since the death of the Brotherhood's leadership years ago. Those were days that Achilles did not like to think about, but with Connor's recent missions and the fact that the Grand Master of the Templars' name crossed his correspondence more than once since the start of the war made him think more and more about the days of yore. Now, deliberately bringing Duncan to meet Tallmadge and learn from him, it was certainly hearkening to the past days when the Brotherhood had thrived and reigned in the Colonies.

"I retired from that life long ago, Achilles," the response was polite, but the words were anything but as Achilles watched the elder Tallmadge through his still-sharp eyes.

There was anger there, along with a distinctive frostiness that he had long associated with the former marksman. Back during his days in the brotherhood, Achilles had made it a point to get to know and even work at least one mission – be it a simple courier one or even ones that required the neutralization of targets – and he had found the senior Tallmadge to be one of the more consummate professionals, even amongst the core of the Brotherhood's leadership. His aloofness and cold demeanor, especially among his fellow brothers and sisters of the order made him hard to approach, but Achilles had seen some of it break from time to time. It had also been what made him pass Nathaniel Tallmadge over for one of the leadership positions; he seemed too cold, too remote unlike Shay, Liam, Hope, and the others to be considered an effective leader. Instead, Achilles had used him the capacity of occasionally teaching his more advance apprentices the intricacies of rifling and sniping targets. The elder Tallmadge had seemed a solitary creature, but Achilles knew that even he was not addled-brain enough to be remiss in knowing when to use the skills of blending and opening up to groups – hence his current profession as a Reverend.

Achilles was silent as he considered Tallmadge's words, but before he could speak, he saw Tallmadge lift a finger and the servant that had attempted to take his jacket suddenly appeared, head bowed quickly. "Joseph, please show Duncan where he can help Achilles set up their rooms for tonight," Tallmadge said, not even attempting to conceal the fact that he was all but ordering Duncan out, leaving the two of them alone.

"...Mentor," out of the corner of Achilles' eyes, he saw Duncan stand up hesitantly, hastily finishing his shortcake before setting his tea cup down. He seemed a little unsure, but seemed to recover his wits as he bowed politely to the two of them and followed the servant, Joseph, out of the room.

As soon as the sounds of Joseph and Duncan's footsteps ascended the stairs, Achilles set his own cup down and leaned forward, "I am not trying to recruit your son, Tallmadge."

"Good," Tallmadge suddenly pinned him with a very hostile-looking glare, "because I still remember _your_ type of dealings. Hidden words, concealed goals, things you would not tell the others only to see them get killed-"

"I was the Mentor of the Assassins-"

"Not anymore," Tallmadge countered heatedly.

"You of all people should realize the secrets we had to keep, what had to be concealed because it would break the world as we know it," Achilles snapped, feeling the sudden surge of anger roil through him. It was not the frustrating weariness and affectionate anger he sometimes felt towards Connor, but this was genuine anger. Tallmadge _knew_ what had happened, he had been there. And here he was preaching to him like he was on his pulpit.

"It literally broke it as far as I remember," the elder Tallmadge growled out quietly, "thrice if I am not mistaken. Haiti, Lisbon, the far north-"

"Those were my sins, my errors," Achilles countered, "and something _not_ for your religious ears to hear if you do not believe anymore."

"Oh I still believe, Achilles. I just don't know if I believe in your leadership anymore," Tallmadge shot back, "you have long past your years and yet the first hint of power, of this new apprentice named Connor, I hear, come knocking on your door and you rise up to take the chains of power. Are you that infatuated with it that it would consume you like all of the seven sins? That you lust and would glutton yourself of what it means to be Mentor once more?"

Achilles pressed his lips into a thin line as he felt a spike of genuine fury towards the elder Tallmadge. "I paid for that with this," he gestured towards his lame leg. The bullet wound never did heal properly and it ached so much, especially in the dead of winter. "Would you have me confess all of my sins to such a false preacher who does not even believe in the existence of God and instead _knows_ what is truly out there?"

"It is better than believing in the fact that the Precursors built the sites to tempt us into power that we never needed-"

"Then you would give it to the Templars?!"

"No!" Tallmadge hissed in an almost-shout, "I would have you stop what you are doing and let the past die!"

Achilles leaned forward, tenting his fingers together as he rested them on his knees, "And pray tell, my former apprentice, what is it you think I am doing? What are you so afraid of that you welcome me into your home, but refuse to even talk in a civilized manner?"

He saw Tallmadge open his mouth, but continued forcibly, "Are you so afraid that I would take your remaining son away from you? That I would cast whatever spell had brought you and Connor to the Brotherhood and force Benjamin to choose to serve the Brotherhood over to living his own life?"

Tallmadge was silent for a few seconds before grudgingly speaking up, "You certainly had an interest in Precusor temples and sites back then to trigger three earthquakes. What else was I to think that you had gotten your second wind at this war to search for them again?"

Achilles shook his head and stared at Tallmadge, "You ignorant child. I am _old_ , I have this leg, and I have certainly learned my lesson from Shay Cormac if not for his mercy at holding Haytham Kenway's gun from killing me back then."

"Then what-"

"If you ever meet Connor, you will understand why I have come out of my...shell, so to speak," Achilles interrupted him, but added in a more gentle tone, "but you are right to suspect my intentions."

Tallmadge's jaw worked for a few seconds before he sat back in silence and nodded once for him to continue.

"I had come to ask for you to not only train Duncan, but to help persuade your son to join the Brotherhood. Connor mistrusts the intentions of the Patriots from time to time. He likes honesty and openness to the point where I fear the life of an Assassin will crush his spirit and leave him-"

"Like yourself," Tallmadge interjected none too kindly, but seemed to soften it with the twitch of a crooked smile.

Achilles took his words with some grace, still feeling the residual fury of their heated conversation, "Like myself, I suppose. Your son already has the rudimentary skills and has so much more potential if we were able to teach him. He is Washington's Head of Intelligence, a position not acquired lightly and apparently has been learning some of the more finer trade-craft from Nathaniel Sackett."

"Sackett's alive?" Tallmadge looked surprised before Achilles shook his head.

"Died, by an assassin's hand. One of the British regulars, not associated with the Templars. I've inquired into it, but it seems Grand Master Kenway's hand was not involved," he answered and saw the brief sadness flit across the former Assassin's face, before he rubbed his eyes as he picked up his tea cup and took an absent sip of the tea.

"You think Sackett might have been protecting him?"

"The possibility is there, but I believe that Sackett was more concerned about acquiring Washington into our fold. I have not communicated with him since the purge, but it might seem that Sackett might have thought Washington would have been someone who was to be watched."

It only took Tallmadge a second to figure out what Achilles meant as something flashed behind his eyes, "Washington's older brother, Lawrence-"

"Was a Templar," Achilles finished with a nod as he sat back in his chair, "the Grand Master of the Templars in the Colonies before Haytham Kenway came with the Colonial Rite."

Tallmadge rubbed his chin, "You want someone near George Washington to turn him into an ally or even sympathetic to the Assassin cause, do you not?"

"Haytham Kenway has made it clear that he supports General Charles Lee in this war," Achilles was still astounded at how astute his former apprentice was. Normally he would have to explain step by step, especially to Connor whom some things sometimes went over his head – though he supposed it was partially due to the lack of education and experience he had among the white men as well as his naivety in certain political arenas of white men.

But he also could see that his words had the desired effect on Reverent Tallmadge as he straightened almost imperceptibly and seemed a little angry, "Lee is nothing more than an idiot playing at General. Indecisive and unwilling to commit troops to any prolonged engagement."

"I hear your son in those words," Achilles said behind his teacup, trying to hide the smile from appearing on his face. He had heard similar reports from some of the other contacts he had around the Colonies. But he was not Mentor if not for his thorough research into his opposition – as much as he was allowed due to his age and for not reneging on his agreement with Grand Master Kenway all those years ago. It had also been the reason why he had allowed Connor to take the brunt of a lot of the public front of the Assassin Brotherhood's revival. If he could persuade Tallmadge to convince his son to join them, then Connor's strength would be bolstered – and they would easily have Washington in their pocket as an assured ally. He was pretty sure that Washington would also enjoy the intelligence of the Brotherhood's vast network as well as their strength and protection.

"And because the Templars back Charles Lee means that you believe Lawrence Washington never involved his younger brother in any of the Templars' affairs – keeping him out of the war between our two factions. Otherwise, Kenway would have never agreed to back Lee over the younger brother of the former Grand Master," Tallmadge continued, his voice thoughtful as he considered everything said.

"Allegiances change," he replied neutrally and heard the quiet snort of agreement from Tallmadge.

"Still, you mean to turn the younger brother of a Templar ranked that high..." Tallmadge seemed impressed, but shook his head, "and your attempt to ply my sympathy at such circumstances in which mirrors my son's own plight..."

Achilles could not hide the frown that appeared on his face at how sharp Tallmadge's words had hit home. Damn him and his ability to read any situation and see to the heart of the matter. "From what I have gathered, his is a fine officer, and has the makings of a very good intelligence officer. He has shown hints of the sharpness you've possessed thus far, and if we could hone it, he would be a formidable enemy to the British and to the Templars. He is devoted to Washington and thus would be able to advance our cause and banish the Templars from the Colonies-"

"No," Tallmadge interrupted with a shake of his head.

"No?"

"No," he repeated as he set his cup down with a sigh, "I cannot do as you ask, Mentor. And that is my final answer. My son has been independent of my care, home, and confidence since I sent him away from Setauket to Connecticut." He met the intense stare of the elder Tallmadge, "Benjamin is a fine officer, soldier, and gentleman. He joined the Continentals of his own free will, independent of my opinion and knowing full well that he could not come home to Setauket when the British garrisoned their troops there. He rose through the ranks of his own skill with little to no help from either the Templars or Assassins. He garnered Washington's respect before all of this and now serves as his Head of Intelligence. He might have made mistakes, might have been foolish and headstrong to raid Setauket for mine and the families of Patriots' safety, but he did it without any help from the Brotherhood."

Tallmadge sat forward, "I will not pressure him to join the Brotherhood. His reasons and his cause are not like the circumstances that brought me to the Homestead." A wistful smile tugged the corners of the Reverend's lips, "There might have been a time where I would have committed him to training...but maybe I am glad that circumstances allowed me to become a Reverend and allow my son to realize a life outside the confines of the Brotherhood."

Achilles took his words with a certain amount of grace before nodding, "I...see..."

"But you do not understand," Tallmadge finished for him.

"No," he admitted, "I do not."

"You may ask him yourself if you do see him again, Mentor Davenport. But I will not force my son to do anything he does not want to do anymore. He is his own man."

Achilles knew then and there that he would not convince Nathaniel Tallmadge otherwise and set his cup down, "Then I apologize for coming all the way out here and bothering you-"

"I will, however, teach Duncan everything I know of rifling," Tallmadge interrupted gently, "my son may not be part of the Brotherhood, but I was and still am a loyal member of our order."

Achilles smiled slightly at his words, "Then, I thank you for your efforts and offer, Tallmadge." It was not much, but Achilles supposed that it was the best he was going get. Gone were the days where he thought that the offer of a different but exciting life would tempt someone. Age had made all of them reflect upon what was, what is, and what might be – and for some, especially like Tallmadge, he supposed that time had shown him something different than what Achilles had seen. The fire of what the Templars had done to their Brotherhood so long ago had already burned out by the religious text that Reverend Tallmadge had taken up. But for Achilles, those fires had been re-stoked by Connor's efforts.

~END~


	7. Between Two Worlds - Part 1

Letters Home: Between Two Worlds

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

On his way back from the troop inspection in Boston, Ben stops by his father's house in Wethersfield. However, not all is well as assassins lurk in the shadows and Ben discovers that one does not need to be part of the Brotherhood to bring the Templars' wrath down upon him.

 **Story:**

* * *

Ben was amazed that in the dead of winter, even with frost on the ground, there was still the faint odor of onions hanging in the air. But what greeted him was not an onion field, but rather the sight of the farm he knew grew the best apples in the colony of Connecticut. It brought a smile to his face as he heeled his horse from a light canter into a trot. He heard the rest of his men followed his stead.

"Daniel, Samuel, you're free to leave for your families for the rest of the day. I do not expect you to return until the day after tomorrow. We leave for camp at noon sharp," he gestured with a hand in the air back towards the men that followed him.

"Thank you sir," the two called behind him. He watched with a small smile on his face as the two wheeled their horses to turn as they passed a fork after the apple farm. The fork would eventually lead to nearby Farmington, where the two boys were from.

He could sense the growing excitement of the rest of his men behind him as they realized that they too would get at least a day of leave to see to their families and loved ones. But the discipline and professionalism he had drilled into them long ago stayed their overt anticipation as they rode further into town. Ben had taken soldiers he specifically knew were from the Wethersfield and Hartford region of Connecticut – even though the 2nd Continential Light Dragoons consisted of several of the nearby Colonies' infantry troops. He had specifically chosen at least one of his two light cavalry units from Connecticut and it was six of these Connecticut men who had accompanied him.

The rest of the 2nd was mostly deployed at Valley Forge, but there were a couple manning the scouting camps along the Connecticut coast. They were ostensibly to watch for any British activity throughout Long Island Sound; but also to guard against raiding parties who would attempt to burn the ports of Norwalk, Westport, Fairfield, Stratford, and New Haven down. He knew that part of his unit was deployed to the edges of Rhode Island – Washington having wanted a small force to keep an eye on French naval reinforcements due to land there in a few months, but there were rumblings of heavy British activity there, so Ben hoped that, that branch of his 2nd Continentals was holding up all right. His orders had been to examine troop readiness in Boston and so he had done so with an eye towards sending those troops to Rhode Island in the near future.

He knew that even though he was not in Washington's favor at the moment, he hoped that with his returning report on troop readiness it would at least garner some of the lost favor by helping his Commander-in-Chief. He did not know what plans Washington had for the Boston-based troops, but had accepted his assignment with some grace – after the initial attempt to get a little bit drunk with Caleb's bottle to soothe the hurt he felt when Washington told him that he was sending him north – and had come to accept it since his inspection that maybe he had really blundered badly in his confidence and handling of his spies.

He was also worried for Caleb and wondered if the last he had seen of his friend was at Morristown with the Turtle. The risks were high of Sackett's contraption sinking into the bottom of York City harbor and while Ben was used to his friend's hair-brained schemes, he still could not help but wonder if he had died in his attempt to free Abe from Sugar Hill prison. Maybe he should have been firmer in stopping Caleb – letting him and Abe run almost roughshod over his attempts at gathering intelligence through his spy network. Maybe Washington was right; he could not control his men effectively.

The whicker of his horse broke Ben out of his thoughts as he pushed it away and focused on his surroundings as they trotted into Wethersfield's main square.

It was already bustling with the afternoon activity, traders, mills, and shops busy with customers or haggling over prices, the bright winter's sun making it seem a lot warmer than it actually was. He could see a lot of them staring up in surprise as they rode into town before some of them cheered at their familiar presence. Ben nodded vague greetings to those who waved at them before he heeled his horse and stopped at the well situated next to one of the two more popular taverns in town. Dismounting, he turned to his men who were also getting situated, unable to hide their wide smiles at the anticipation of leave.

"Go to your families. We'll meet back here at noon sharp the day after tomorrow," he said before they tipped their plumed hats at him and he returned the gesture. Not even a second later, one of them gave a wild cheering shout and all but dragged his horse by the bridle as he headed down another road that led into the smaller farmland plots of the town.

Ben shook his head at the man's antics as did two of his fellow light cavalrymen. The third one only shrugged and shouldered his bags before heading to the tavern itself. "John," he called out to the man who turned, a wry smile on his lips, "don't get too drunk on the first night."

"Sir," John only grinned in return before walking away and Ben could hear the muffled snickers of the other two.

They all knew that John Davenport was the owner of this particular tavern itself and had been one of the 2nd's first volunteers, not even bothering with a bounty. He and Ben had become acquaintances during his three years as superintendent of the schools here in Wethersfield before the 2nd Continentals had been raised. However, unlike Ben, John did not have enough money to purchase a Lieutenant's or even an Ensign's commission and so had become one of the enlisted men. While their interactions had been cordial as was becoming between officers and enlisted men, Ben had seen to it that he had been regularly promoted – not only because he was his friend, but also because John was one of the unit's best horsemen. He knew that most dragoons had horsemen who were only officers, but Ben also knew that this was a war that had to be fought man by man and so had a handful of his dragoons as enlisted men. This also made it a lot easier for the enlisted men to command the infantry units whenever in battle instead of sacrificing one of his officers to put forth formations and the like.

"Henry, Liam, please give my salutations to your families. Henry, I'm sure your father will probably want to speak to me as always. He can find me at my father's lodgings," he said and saw the two others nod before taking their leave.

Liam followed Alexander's path down to the smaller plots of farmland, but instead of dragging his horse like Alexander did in his excitement, he took it at a steady pace. Liam Griffith and Alexander Mayfield were neighbors to whom Ben had taught for three years before they had joined when the muster had been called in Wethersfield. Henry had been enrolled at Harvard College for a year before he had come home to join the 2nd Continentals. Ben had been friendly with the young man's father who was one of the local lawyers who had two practices, one in Wethersfield, the other in Hartford.

Daniel and Samuel were farmers, though Samuel had been apprenticed to a blacksmith before he had answered the muster call. Farmington was a relatively small community that was mostly comprised of its namesake. Their export was mainly trade of crops and meat to feed Hartford, Wethersfield, and surrounding towns as well as sending convoys down river to the coast for further trade. There were several others who were native to the town as well as the area, but they were part of the force that Ben had sent out towards Rhode Island. A few others served with Washington directly as part of his personal guards while others served in a variety of other capacities.

Seeing that his men were well on their way to reuniting with their families and loved ones, he removed his helm, securing it on his saddle before taking his horse by the reigns and headed towards the direction of the schoolhouse. It was situated near the First Church of Christ, even though the schoolhouse existed long before the church had been built seventeen years prior. It was due to the influx and expansion of settlers after the French and Indian War, the schoolhouse also rebuilt for more students. It was also one of the reasons why Ben had stayed in Connecticut to teach and supervise the growing number of young minds after he had graduated Yale.

It had been a couple of years since he had properly returned to Wethersfield – he had not accompanied his father in his journey to the town after rescuing him from Setauket the year before. Instead, he had only sent a handful of soldiers to accompany the Patriot families to help them settle with families in various parts of the state and had only received a letter a couple of months later from his father detailing how he had settled into what used to be his house in the town. When he had visited his father after coming down from Achilles' Homestead, it had been in Hartford instead.

As Ben made his way up towards the schoolhouse, taking the right path before entrance towards the small row of houses where all of the teachers lived as well as the minister that ran the church and his family, he was glad in a way to see that nothing had changed much. The town, though certainly affected by the war in terms of the able-bodied men that had left to serve, had not been ravaged or torched by the British.

As he had been on a secretive mission to check troop readiness, Ben had not had time to forewarn his father of his arrival and hoped that at least the man was home. If not, he supposed that Joseph, Ezekiel, and Rachel would not mind if he stayed for the next two days. They had been the house servants that he had been given for his appointment as superintendent and part-time teacher of the schools. He had left them to take care of the house while he had been gone and now they served his father. His stipend for their work, since they were freedmen, was meager and small, but they did not complain. Now, Ben drew his pay and sent part of it regularly to maintain the upkeep of his house as well as to furnish his father's comforts.

He tilted his head a little in puzzlement at the sight of a carriage sans horse on the side of the path that led to his house. Someone was already here and it seemed his father had been entertaining them for the last few days judging by the amount of frost and powdery snow that covered parts of the carriage. The carriage itself also looked vaguely familiar, but Ben could not place where he had seen it before. Shrugging mostly to himself, he turned to lead his horse to the stables when he heard the distinctive report of a Pennsylvania rifle going off followed a half-second later by the sound of glass shattering in the back of the house.

Ben frowned; why would his father be shooting his rifle in the back, and against glass bottles of all things. With his curiosity further roused, he led his horse into the stables, quickly taking off the halter and saddle as well as giving the creature a quick brush down. He set a good amount of hay and water and finally placing a blanket on his faithful mount. Not even after he had done so, he heard a second report of the rifle, but there was no sound of glass shattering. Ben grabbed his travel roll, saddlebags, and helm before heading out of the stables. His boots crunched against the packed snow as he headed towards the back.

His frown turned into a bemused expression as he saw his father standing with another person he did not recognize, but was clearly teaching him the finer intricacies of using the familiar Pennsylvania rifle. The other man had a thatch of greying reddish hair that was more grey than colored, along with a short trimmed beard that was definitely whitish grey. Still he did not look much older than perhaps his early thirties. However, the hunched posture he had unconsciously adopted told Ben that he definitely had seen a lot more than what a man his age should have – which was probably the precedent of his greying hair.

The crunch of his boots in snow must have alerted them as he saw the other man suddenly look up and towards him before his father turned to see what he was staring at and Ben could not help but smile.

"Ben!" his father greeted, a wide smile splitting across his face as Ben crunched over the snow and shifted his bags to one hand while he shook his father's extended hand. He suddenly felt himself being dragged into a thumping embrace and awkwardly tried to hug his father in return with his saddlebags, roll, and helmet precariously held.

"Hello father," he greeted quietly, feeling a little shy as always when he was around him. The first time he had seen his father after he had enlisted was rescuing him from Setauket and it had been a surprise, almost a shock to hear the words of praise and the fact that his father was so proud of him. His father had stared at his uniform with pride and it had made Ben feel like a young boy once more. That same feeling lingered as his father stared at him now.

In his formative years, they had talked so infrequently due to his father's missions as an Assassin and his seemingly recalcitrant demeanor whenever he did see his father in between missions. The infrequency of his visits home had made Ben yearn for his approval and he and Samuel had turned to each other for support, especially after their mother had died. When Ben had been sent away to boarding school, he had all but cut his father out of his life and continued the trend when he enrolled at Yale. He was not used to the pride shining in his father's eyes.

"Just arrived?" his father asked and Ben nodded as he released his hand and placed a firm one on his back, guiding him towards the person he had been teaching. "Ben, this is Duncan Little. Duncan, this is my son Benjamin. Achilles asked me to help Duncan learn the finer points of rifling to further improve his abilities."

"Oh...oh..." Ben realized that Duncan was a member of the Assassins if his father's words were any indication, and more than likely a recent recruit. He shook hands with the other man before looking around, "Achilles is here?"

"Headed into town, wanted to look around the markets. Rachel is with him to make sure he doesn't slip on the patches of ice or muddy slush," his father replied, but there was the undercurrent of _something_ in his voice that Ben could not quite identify. He had the oddest feeling that it was about him, but was not directed _towards_ him.

"Here, let me get Joseph – Joseph! - to come help you find a room. Will you be staying long?" his father gestured for him to climb the stairs to the porch where Joseph opened the back door and the black man smiled at the sight of him.

"Master Benjamin, good to see that you've returned," Joseph gestured with his arms for him to give him his bags and roll to which Ben did so with a grateful nod of thanks.

"For the next couple," he replied, but did not say anymore knowing that while Duncan was an Assassin, he had long learned that discretion and words could be heard by anyone in the vicinity.

His father nodded, eyes twinkling a little at the discretion he was exerting on his words. He knew that his father knew he was the Head of Intelligence for Washington; it was one of the few things on the official dispatches as well as a hasty explanation – and bit of a lie – of military scouts that he had explained about why he and his men raided Setauket. But Ben could not help but wonder how _much_ his father knew about his work, especially since he was a former Assassin. It was disconcerting to see his father in such a light, especially after what he had learned of the Assassins. When he had been growing up, he knew that his father was an Assassin and served the Brotherhood, but did not quite comprehend it all until now.

"I'll have to get a runner to let Rachel know to buy something succulent, maybe a wild turkey or something, for dinner tonight-"

"I'll let her know. I was going to head back into town to buy some supplies and to have new clothing tailored," he offered and saw his father smile a little bit.

"Still don't like the rifling lessons, eh?" he asked and Ben ducked his head a little in a small laugh.

"It was very educational and interesting, but I shall leave your lessons to your newest student," he could see Duncan frowning with some worry at his words. He glanced beyond the Assassin recruit's shoulder and saw that at least four pistols and two rifles had been set up and were leaning on the railings. He remembered his father's shooting lessons very well.

After learning the basics of reloading and committing it to memory, his father then shot pistols and rifles into the air near his head to get him used to reloading under fire. Then came the bullets that were shot near his position while he learned how to do it while having bullets _very_ near him. Samuel had been nearly frightened out of his wits, by virtue of being the eldest to undergo such a training, but Ben had mastered it because he had seen Samuel go through it. He knew his brother had resented him for that, but had been able to salvage his honor by being an even sharper marksman than he was on both horse-back and on foot. Ben could only manage to hit body parts instead of having an instant-kill when rifling.

Ben decided to take some pity on Duncan and reached over and clapped the other man on the shoulder, "Cheer up, it'll be all right. I'll have Joseph prepare a salve later on for your ears."

With that, he followed Joseph into the house, catching the puzzled look the other man had on his face. "Calendula and some oils and grease would create the salve," he said, "it would help heal the bleeding in the ears he may have later on after my father's training."

"Yes sir," Joseph replied before gesturing to one of the smaller rooms that used to be Ben's study in the house, "I am sorry sir, but Masters Tallmadge and Achilles-"

"It's all right, I expected it," Ben said, noting that the couch was the only viable sleeping area in the study. While it was small, it was most definitely larger than his own tent back at Valley Forge, and more comfortable than the straw bunk he had prepared for himself there.

"I will gather blankets for you," Joseph said as he set his things down on the small high-backed chair that was next to the small fire, "do you need more firewood, sir?"

"Yes, if you please," he said before Joseph left the room and Ben closed the door behind him.

He breathed out a quiet sigh as he looked around. Everything seemed to have stayed the same, but he noticed that a few things had been moved around. He had no doubts that either his servants or even his father had rifled through his drawers, reading his various correspondences, letters, or even mandates that he had written in his three years there. He had written unpublished manifestos, letters to his best friend Nathan Hale after they had graduated Yale, had even some of his papers from professors and their remarks on them in this room. There was the occasional student homework he had corrected, but it had also housed a lot of the more mundane paperwork for the school district's budget, plans, and goals for the upcoming year or years that had past.

There were also a few correspondences from women he had met at Yale while debating and he knew that more than one had written to him without the consent of their fathers. Those letters he had responded with cordial greetings and basic interest, the politics of the colonies fascinating him at that time more than the missives of his female admirers. Ben did not expect any of that to be private anymore; not since he had left to fight and his father had moved in.

Still, it felt like a semblance of home since he had been away and he relaxed a little as he took off his jacket and shook the fine dust of flurrying snow from it before hanging it to dry next to the fire. He reached into his one of his saddlebags and pulled out his worn traveling cloak and a more casual dark jacket. It was similar to the leather ones he had seen Abe wear from time to time, putting that on just as Joseph's polite knock came.

"Enter," he said as he adjust his sleeves and put on the traveling cloak over it. He had not had time to waterproof the jacket with some of Caleb's whale oil, so his traveling cloak would have to protect it from the elements.

"Excuse me sir," Joseph said as he brought in a heap of blankets and some firewood. Ben helped by taking the firewood out of his hands and set most of it to the side next to the hearth, before putting a few sticks of kindling and one log into the fire, tending to it for a few seconds before straightening. It would be nice and warm by the time he returned from his errands. He glanced over to see Joseph adjusting his blankets across the couch before leaving with a nod.

Taking his sword belt off, he instead removed his pistol holster and wore that, before checking the knife attached to the side of the holster as well as the one in his boot. The knife in his boot had saved his life back when he had been ambushed in New Jersey by Robert Rogers. His pistol was a traditional one, instead of the spring loaded bayonet that was built into Caleb's, but Ben was not adverse to having another dagger near his pistol. One could never be too prepared.

Grabbing his small pouch of money as well as his unbuckled sword, he headed out of his room and out the front door. He paused for a moment to take in the blast of cold winter air once more, breathing in deeply at the smell of _home_. He closed his eyes for a few seconds to enjoy the cold air, before just as suddenly the moment was shattered as he sensed something not quite _right_.

He snapped open his eyes and looked around, his eyes taking in the bare trees, snow coating branches and nooks as well as the browned leaves on the ground. His ears focused past the shuffling of the horses' feet near the stables as well as the quiet murmur and sounds of his father and Duncan as the thumps and twangs of metal-on-metal told him that Duncan was reloading his father's rifle. But nothing seemed amiss.

Whatever had triggered the sense of something _not quite right_ had not made itself known. It was a sixth sense of sorts that he had since he could remember his childhood. It had saved him from time to time, most notably alerting him of the Queen's Ranger that had been given the detail of ensuring his men were all dead after the ambush. It had saved him from a bullet in the ambush that Rogers had tried to lure him into after Selah's prisoner transfer, and had allowed him to evade the Redcoat patrols while he had made his way to the Homestead. He had never mentioned it to his father in the times that he was around, but had always taken it as a lucky charm of sorts. What had broken his reverie then?

Seeing that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, Ben relaxed a little bit, but decided to keep a wary eye out as he headed back towards the town's center. Maybe it was two years on the front, or maybe it was just nerves, but Ben hoped that maybe this time, his sixth sense was wrong.

The two pairs of eyes that had been watching Major Benjamin Tallmadge emerge from the largest of the row of houses that were situated next to the schoolhouse breathed dual sighs of relief as the dragoon passed them without any suspicion.

"You didn't tell me he's got _that_ skill," one of the men hissed to the other. He picked at the borrowed green uniform he had been given for this mission. He understood that it was a disguise, to cover their tracks, but he hated the wool – it itched like a dead man had worn it and died in it until maggots claimed his body.

"How the hell should I have known? It wasn't in any of the General's dispatches," the other answered.

"Yeah well, we finish this job, I'm demanding double. It's goin' be hard sneakin' about with a guy with _that_ skill," the first man grumbled.

"Well, let's just kill 'im first then figure out payment, all right? General's suspicious about him since that _injun_ escaped in York City and wants him gone," his partner nudged him none too gently in the ribs before they left their place of concealment and headed back into the deep woods.

~END Part 1~


	8. Between Two Worlds - Part 2

Letters Home: Between Two Worlds

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Story:**

* * *

The second time it happened, Ben could not keep the surprise off of his face as he accepted the enthusiastic embrace from the tailor's wife. He had already been greeted warmly and with some surprised enthusiasm from the blacksmith already when he had requested new shoes for his horse, a sharpening of his sword, as well as two new daggers to replace the ones he had on him. The blacksmith's wife had embraced him and called him her hero as well as jokingly referred to him as his adopted son before letting him get on with business. Now, as he composed himself after the awkward hug from the tailor's wife he could not help but be a little more than shockingly bemused at what had transpired. He saw her bustled back behind a curtain to continue to help fit a customer who had come for alterations.

"Don't mind Emma, Major," the tailor, a one Mr. Robert Reed, a middle-aged man whom had a hooked nose and pinched spectacles over his face said with a kind smile, "she and the rest of the sewing circle have been reading the latest news from the fronts as well as garnering information about your and the 2nd Light's heroics." The older man chuckled lightly, "You've quite the admirers, Major Tallmadge."

Ben blinked, a little taken aback at the man's words before hastily clearing his throat, "Oh, um, thank you...I suppose..." He could instantly imagine Caleb's expression as well as his phantom voice going on and on about the virtues of women, things about experience, and the fact that he 'Benny-boy' was rather lucky to have so many female admirers.

Ben did not think he was that oblivious to the admiration of the women – he had letters from them in his desk to prove it – but he thought that with the war effort and all, he needed to put his focus more on driving out the British than to pursue his own wants and needs. Apparently he he might have been a little bit wrong on that part, especially with the admiration of the blacksmith's wife and Mr. Reed's wife to boot. He coughed lightly, "Well, then..."

"The two new shirts will be ready for you by the day after tomorrow as is two clean vests and the extra pair of woolen stockings. The jacket however, might not be. Is there a place you wish me to deliver this to?" Mr. Reed asked and Ben shook his head.

"Keep it for me. I will send one of my men with the payment when you have finished it," he was a little disappointed that he would not be collecting a new jacket when he left.

He owned three of them and one of them had bloodstains on them from when he was grazed with a bullet a couple of months ago protecting Washington from Thomas Hickey's assassination attempt. His current one was staring to get a bit worn from all of his traveling and from being rotated in and out as best as he could with his blood-stained one. His third one was a little more elaborate and used as his dress uniform when he had meetings with Washington or any others. He hesitated to use that one as part of his jacket rotation, but with this new one unable to be ready in time, he would have to start using it.

"Well, I will try my best-"

"It's fine Mr. Reed, you have your regulars and they too need their clothing for the upcoming planting season," he knew that he was within his rights as both an officer of the Continental Army and as a soldier to demand and receive clean and tailored clothing befitting his station. But Ben also knew that he would be making unreasonable demands on someone he had known for three years.

The tailor looked surprised at his answer before a smile appeared on his face, "Thank you, sir for your kindness. Now then, your total will be fourteen Continental dollars or at least seven pounds if you wish to pay with coin."

Ben did not say anything at the steeply low price he had been given, knowing that it had only been given because he did not expedite his jacket and the tailor was feeling grateful. Instead, he opened up his leather satchel and pulled out the Continental dollars he needed before handing it over. He would have used the poundage upon his persons, but he also wanted to save it for bribes in case they encountered trouble crossing the Hudson on their way back to Morristown and from there to Valley Forge.

"Do you need new nickel or silver buckles for your shoes, sir?" he asked and Ben glanced down at his feet, pursing his lips for a moment before shaking his head. His riding boots needed no buckles, but his dress shoes back at camp probably could have used new ones. However Ben was hoping that maybe he could use some of Caleb's more interesting whaling tools and devices to shine the buckles. He certainly seen his best friend hand around some kind of paste to the others in camp and the result was extremely shiny buckles and the occasional sword. Though he he had seen Caleb use the paste and set his personal tomahawk on fire.

"These will do for now, thank you though," he said as he mentally counted the amount of money he had left to buy some extra supplies at the general store as well as to pay the blacksmith for what he requested. Mr. Reed nodded and Ben left the shop, pulling his traveling cloak tighter at the sudden gust of wind. The sun was already setting, casting everything in a pale frosty-like glow, but Ben could make out the shops starting to close up and the noises from the tavern that John Davenport owned growing louder and louder.

He headed across the street to where the butcher's shop and general store were located, hoping that maybe Rachel was still there. To his luck, he saw her exit the butcher's shop along with Achilles and ran the rest of the way.

"Rachel! Master Achilles!" he called out and saw the two look up before Rachel smiled, the white of her teeth contrasting the extremely black skin she had.

"Master Benjamin!" she called in return as he shut an eye against another gust of a gale that blew down the street and huddled near them.

"Major Tallmadge, good to see you again," Achilles greeted with his usual rasp as Ben nodded towards the master Assassin.

"The same," he returned before turning to Rachel, "has the butcher's shop closed yet?"

"They're just about to, are you home for long? I can go back and get a fowl of sorts if you wish," Rachel immediately knocked back on the shop's door before it opened and the burly form of the butcher himself looked curiously at them before spotting him.

"Tallmadge! You're back! I thought you were here...saw the horses ride by just hours ago, but didn't realize it was you and the boys," the butcher, David if Ben remembered correctly, was always a constant fixture at the Davenport Tavern. He was loud, boisterous, and Ben distinctly remembered the man challenging others to arm wrestle with him in a drunken wage of sorts.

"David, do you have any sort of fowl, turkey, chicken or even pheasant I can buy off of you-"

"Aye, that I do, give me a second, which do you prefer, Ms. Rachel?"

Rachel shot him a questioning look and Ben shrugged. It had been a while since he had fresh fowl meat and he had no preferences. All fresh meat was better than the salted pork, fish, and hard cheese they had been eating at Valley Forge for the past winter. "The chicken then, easier to cook and pluck if you would be so kind good sir," Rachel answered and David nodded before closing the door to get her order.

"I hope you don't mind chicken-"

"Any fresh meat is good, especially if I remember your cooking," he interrupted her and saw her duck her head at his compliment before Achilles smiled a little.

"Rations do tend to get dry after a while," the Mentor of the Assassins commented absently before they fell into a companionable silence.

The silence was broken after a few seconds in which the door opened again and David stepped out, holding a freshly slaughtered chicken. Ben took a cautious step back to avoid the drip of blood, the coppery smell of it reminding him greatly of the overwhelming pungent odor of his slaughtered men in New Jersey for a second. Instead, he offered to take Rachel's basket of brought food and spices as the woman reached out to grab the proffered chicken by its legs. With her other hand she dropped the appropriate amount of coins into David's hand who clenched it and grinned.

"I should be saving this, but ol' Davenport's got my name on it," the butcher looked at him, "Davenport back with ye?"

"Probably telling tall tales," Ben gestured with his head towards the Tavern and David laughed loudly.

"Or telling sweet nothin's to his wife," the man snickered before heading over to the Tavern, his business clearly closed.

Ben shook his head and gestured with the basket in his hands to Rachel and Achilles, "Shall we?"

The other two nodded as they headed back to the house, Ben trying his best not to stare at the drip of blood against snow from the slaughtered chicken. He mostly succeeded by keeping his eyes forward and the basket held in front of him. He knew it was silly to think of such things, but he could not help but think of the same blood that had dripped while seeing the wounded after Trenton and even in other attacks over the last couple of years. He managed to pull himself from his thoughts as they reached the house without incident and Ben handed over the basket to Rachel who took it and the chicken into the kitchens, leaving him and Achilles in the front hall.

He made to excuse himself when the Assassin tapped him lightly on the wrist with his walking cane, "A moment of your time, if you will, Major."

"Of course," Ben gestured for Achilles to precede him into the sitting room where the flickering warmth of a well-tended hearth invited to melt the chill from their bones. He followed, taking off his traveling cloak and hanging it by one of the coat racks near the door as he passed by before shedding his leather jacket and folding it over one arm. Achilles did the same, but hung his jacket over one of the high-backed chairs in the room before easing himself into the same chair.

"How much do you know of our order?" Achilles asked as Ben made himself comfortable in his own chair. It was angled towards the fire, but not enough so that he was still facing Achilles.

"Of the history between the Brotherhood and the Templars?" he asked, a little puzzled at the question, "not much aside from the fact that I know the Brotherhood has been fighting them for a very long time; far longer than when these colonies were established." He saw the elderly man nod absently and continued, "I also know that Shay Cormac was one of the Brotherhood before he betrayed them."

"Your father told...?"

"Yes, he told me," Ben confirmed, "after I visited the Homestead." He had a feeling that Achilles was working his way towards a goal, but did not know what it was. In the mean time, he was content to answer the man's inquiries; finding no direct harm in answering such questions.

Achilles made a noise of agreement before rubbing his bristled chin quietly for a few seconds, "Major Tallmadge...Benjamin...the order needs men like you to lead it back to its rightful place, to stop the spread of the Templars' influences and their schemes..."

Ben sat back slowly as he met Achilles' firm look, "You wish for me to join the Brotherhood."

"Aye," the man nodded once, "we need leaders like yourself to guide both the war effort and the country when we succeed."

"When," Ben stared at Achilles, thinking of all of the sick and dying men in the cold, hard ground of Valley Forge. It was brutal there, and though he had left before the worst of the winter had arrived, he could not help but feel for the men there.

"We've received word that France has all but allied itself with the Continental Congress and the fledgling United States of America. The Marquis de Lafayette is already at your winter camp," the other man said with a slight smile and Ben could only stare in shock.

"T-That's...that's great news!" he released a shaky breath at the sudden and sheer amount of joy he was feeling. France was their ally and it meant more troops, _ships_ , supplies, and most of all, hope that they were going to win this even with the loss of both Philadelphia and New York. He wished he had a drink or something next to him, but instead rubbed his face, suddenly feeling a lot better in a long, long time. He felt more confident in the troops stationed in Boston, in re-taking parts of Rhode Island and just generally about everything.

"So you understand our request for you to join the Brotherhood?" Achilles asked, bringing Ben's focus back to what he has asked. "With France's help this country will come to be and we will soon be free of England's yolk. The Templars support the British and with the rise of this new country, they stand to lose everything. We must take this chance to ensure that they cannot cause such chaos or have such influencing power once more."

"You wish for me to use my position in Washington's shadow to help further the Brotherhood's goals?" he dared not say that he was the former Head of Intelligence in case Achilles did not know that. As far as he knew, Washington had not made it publicly known considering the deference and respect he had been given in Boston, so Ben was not inclined to tell anyone else. It was also because it still stung and hurt to have his Commander-in-Chief feel that way about him.

"We are not the chaotic entity you may have heard of contrary to Templars' rumors," the older man said, "we only want the freedom and free will for those to choose what they want."

Ben could feel the flicker of a half-truth hanging in the air and pressed on it, "But that's not quite true, is it not?"

He caught the barest flash of surprise in Achilles' dark eyes before a small smile appeared on his lips and he shook his head, "Your perception does you credit, Major Tallmadge.

"No. I am asking because while Connor does his best and is my apprentice, he does not understand the finer politicking that happens with men who rebel against an established order. He is...naive, though I suspect that he is beginning to realize that. But he is also head-strong and stubborn about his believes. And so will support whatever goals are achieved for this his new nation that is growing before our eyes." Achilles sat forward, "I want you to help him, support him, be the voice of reason to the shadows in men's hearts like Washington and the others."

"You are asking me to choose between Washington and Connor, or rather, the ideals of the order itself," Ben stated and saw the other man shake his head.

"No-"

"If their ideals come in conflict-"

"No, I am not," Achilles interrupted with another shake of his head, "I am asking you to be the _bridge_ between Washington and Connor."

"But to also swear by the Creed should the need arise," he countered, "and to follow it no matter what allegiances or other vows taken because to be a member of the Brotherhood is to devote one's life to it."

The older man was quiet for a few minutes as the two stared at each other. The distant sounds of a kitchen come to life with dinner being made as well as the muffled sounds of what could have been guns being cleaned in the back echoed in the house. There was an unspoken conversation that hung in the air and it seemed to remind the older man of the very reason why he was having this discussion as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Your father," Achilles finally stated and Ben inclined his head once.

"I will decline your offer with the same simple reason I gave to Connor when he asked me why I was not part of the order," he said quietly, "it is because I cannot see a service to the order and raise a family at the same time."

He held up a hand to prevent the other man from interrupting again, "I've already pledged my service to one man under God, and cannot do so to a war or a cause I know that has gone on past my father's time. I pledged to ensure the freedom of this country because I _know_ the war will end and I will be able to retire to a life I want and with a family I wish to raise."

"And even with France's help, if we lose this war?" Achilles asked, his eyes sharp.

"Then I will die knowing that I have done all that I can in service to my general, my country, and my beliefs," he replied, meeting the older man's steely look.

"The Brotherhood has resources-"

"Aye, it does," he agreed with a gentle interruption, "and I am willing to share my knowledge with Connor and am grateful that he has shared his knowledge with me regarding plots against General Washington. But so do the Templars." He saw the dark-skinned man's expression abruptly close and knew that he had hit the mark. He supposed it was a good time as any to voice the biggest suspicion he had since Connor's escape from Bridewell prison and his hanging. "General Charles Lee is a Templar, is he not?"

The only reply he got was a bland look from Achilles and he had to admire the man's unwillingness to tell him anything in face of his question. But at the same time, something in Ben told him that he was on the right path – that Achilles' lack of expression had also confirmed his suspicions. It was why he insisted on presiding over Connor's execution when normally a so-called assassin come to take the General's life would not even be treated with such exuberance. There was also the matter that Lee somehow knew Connor, had interrogated him.

"Thomas Hickey was also one of the men I knew that was part of Washington's Lifeguard. As he was not one of my own, I suspect that he was Lee's man by virtue of being part of William Bradford's men and Bradford is Lee's man," he continued, choosing his words carefully.

He did not know if Bradford was a Templar, but suspected that he was not because of his sheer idiocy and incompetence. It was laughable to him that such a 'yes-man' to Lee was one of the fabled Templars he had heard from childhood stories. He also did not want to reveal to Achilles that Anna's former servant Abigail had already sent word that Lee was a traitor. No, that was information for him to use and to hopefully expose Lee to Washington without making the same blunder he did months earlier.

A thought occurred to him as pieces started to fall into place in his mind. "You wish to counter the potential Templar influence General Lee has on Washington with my help. Is this the primary reason why you wish me to join the Brotherhood?"

Achilles' bland look turned sharp once more before he shook his head with a quiet snort, "You are a very sharp one, Tallmadge. I dare say sharper than your father, though I will freely admit, much more personable."

"You can thank my mother for that," Ben replied dryly, feeling as if he had passed a test in front of the old master Assassin. It also seemed to signal that this conversation was churning into less fraught waters and it was only a few seconds later that Ben realized why. He heard footsteps on the hardwood floors grow closer before he saw his father appear.

"I thought I heard voices in here when a most wonderful aroma began to filter from the kitchens to the porch," Ben's father wore a congenial smile on his face, but there was the same edge of something strained from when he had talked to him earlier.

"Just talking about the latest with the war, that is all," Achilles gripped the arm of the chair and pushed himself up, grabbing his cane and jacket, officially ending their conversation.

Ben also stood up as Achilles hobbled out. He could tell that the other man still wanted to convince him to join the Brotherhood, but for now, it seemed to have been tabled due to his father's appearance. Ben waited until he heard the tapping of Achilles' cane going up the stairs and turned to his father, "Anything you wish to tell me?"

"Just a gentleman's disagreement," his father replied evasively before clapping him on his shoulder and gestured for them to head to the dining room, "come, tell me all about your more recent adventures – or at least the ones you are allowed to tell, son. I have a fine port that was generously donated when I first arrived here and a palate to whet."

Ben nodded as he followed his father out of the parlor. He was still puzzled as to what would have transpired between his father and Achilles to make them somewhat frosty to each other, but did not dwell on it much. His father was teaching another of the Assassins, so certainly it had nothing to do with the Brotherhood. It must have been something mundane as perhaps dinner or some kind of wager of sorts. He vaguely remembered from long ago Achilles playing a mean hand of checkers; trouncing all of the opponents who challenged him, but at the same time gently teaching all of the children how to play. It was where he had learned several moves on the board that always had Caleb scratching his head and asking if it was legal.

The piping hot dinner was a welcomed respite from cold salted meats, hard cheese, and stale bread of rations. The port his father received as a welcoming gift from the community added to the warmth and contentment he had this late into the night. However, when one expected to be sleeping in bed, Ben found himself lying on the hardwood floorboards of the study he had been given instead. The blankets Joseph had brought in earlier were wrapped around him, cocooning him and giving him a small measure of comfort against hardness.

The couch had been too soft for him to consider sleeping on – not after two solid years of sleeping in tents, on uneven terrain, and even occasionally in the saddle when he was on extended patrol. He had been a Lieutenant, then a Captain, and bunking had been limited in the times the Continental forces had moving from town to town before and after fleeing New York. Even with his current rank as Major, housing had been extremely limited at Morristown and Valley Forge, most of General Washington's inner staff taking up some of the room – the others reserved for the higher ranked Generals and their staff. The fact that General Arnold had taken a tent for his recovery instead of the main house was telling in Ben's opinion. He was far nobler and Ben sometimes wished that the man had not had his leg maimed so badly at Saratoga. This was a General that was effective in battle and an ardent Patriot.

Conversation had been light during and after dinner as the four of them retired to the secondary sitting room. Topics were mostly about what British forces were up to, things happening Boston, conjecture in what was the latest in New York and even news from the southern front of the war. Ben had been very curious about those reports and to his surprise found out that Connor commanded a small fleet of privateers that had been delivering supplies to the Patriot forces in the southern colonies as well as trading with Spain and French-held colonies. He had also learned that Connor had recruited several others, sending them to help the war effort on different fronts. Most of them were based either in Boston or New York, but they were willing to help the Assassin cause – and in turn the Patriots – with their skills and resources. Duncan Little had been apparently assigned to the Boston-New York front of the war due to his familiarity with the vast swath of land in between the two cities.

Ben was not cynical enough to take what was discussed as another of Achilles' ploy to recruit him into the Brotherhood, but he did note that it was at least welcomed news his General would be glad to hear of about the southern front. Sooner or later, if and when they recapture Philadelphia and New York, the war would move to the south – where it was apparently very much fought like Indian tactics – hiding and ambushing. It was good to have an idea of what was happening with the war down there than to walk in with only military scout knowledge. He did not readily denounce the scouts' knowledge and courage to peer at enemy forces, but he acknowledged their shortcomings, especially after Sackett's lessons.

He shifted again in the cocoon of blankets, wondering why sleep was elusive to him this late at night. A warm meal, fire in his room, and even a heady port were all sure luxuries to send any man into the arms of Morpheus. But Ben could not help but feel like something was _wrong_. It was not with Achilles nor his father, or even the town for that matter, but something that told him something was _wrong_ and that he should be wary and alert. The town was safe and secure and far away from any potential British invasion by river or by sea. Hartford would have sent their garrison out in warning before the marched on Wethersfield.

The only thing he could pinpoint as the source of his unease was the same exact feeling he had when he had initially stepped outside of the house on his way to town earlier. But that feeling had all but disappeared as he walked into town. Ben inwardly shook his head and sighed, rubbing his eyes a little before shifting once more and closed his eyes-

 _Bang!Bang!Bang!_

The frantic pounding of the door made him snap his eyes open instantly and he hastily threw off his blankets as he scrambled to his feet. Ignoring the sudden chill of the room even though it was heated by fire, he opened his door and hurried out just as Joseph approached from the servant's quarters with a flickering candle in hand.

Ben peered through the window next to the door, wondering who would knock at this ungodly hour before he saw the distorted reflection of Henry's father, Harry Adamson. He opened the door, his body involuntarily twitching at the burst of cold winter air just as Harry raised his hand to pound his fist against it.

"Mr. Adamson?" he asked the lawyer who breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh Major Tallmadge, thank god," Adamson looked utterly relieved as he raised his lamp up to his face, "my son- he's-he's been shot and he's asking for you. Was trying to fend off an intruder who thought to steal things from our farmhouse-"

"Hang on, let me get my clothes," Ben nodded before gesturing for the man to come in and closed the door behind him. He shivered a little against the cold as he ran back to his room and threw on his jacket, stockings and his boots before grabbing his traveling cloak which had been drying next to his uniform's jacket. Hastily tying back his hair, he secured his pistol and daggers on him before hurrying back out to the parlor where Henry's father waited.

"Ben what's-"

Ben glanced up to see his father leaning over the balustrade, dressed in his night robes, Achilles' dark eyes peering behind him. Duncan appeared from the other end and he waved them away.

"Just some issue with one of my men, I'll be back soon," he said before nodding to Mr. Adamson to lead the way as Joseph opened the door and the two of them headed out into the cold winter night.

"I-I brought another horse..." Adamson gestured to the horse that was next to his own and Ben nodded his thanks as he mounted it and followed the lawyer at a fast trot.

As they made their way through town before turning down to the streets that led to the Adamson farmland plot, Ben surmised that the wound must be gravely serious if Henry was asking for him. The man must have wanted to ensure that his name would not be held in contempt if he died and did not show up during the appointed time for them to meet the day after tomorrow. But it puzzled him that such a thing could have been easily remedied by someone acting as a messenger or courier. Still, Henry was a good man and Ben would not let him die without letting him know he made a difference in the war effort.

"I don't know why he would steal from our storehouse. We didn't have a good harvest this year," Adamson called back as they rode towards his plot of land, "would have been better to steal from the Griffiths plot. They had a better harvest this year than us."

"Starvation drives a man to do unspeakable acts," Ben called back and saw the lawyer nod as they pulled up to his house and Ben dismounted.

"I'll take care of these, please, see to my son, Major," Adamson said as he took the reigns from his hand and Ben stepped away.

He knocked on the door and it opened a crack and Ben saw the familiar face of Henry's younger sister Elizabeth. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and her lips were turned down into a frown, but they turned up at the sight of him.

"Major Tallmadge," Betsy, as Henry had always called her, nearly stuttered quietly before she opened the door and gestured for him to come in. Ben remembered only teaching her once or twice before he enlisted.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Betsy," he apologized and she shook her head.

"No apologies necessary, s-sir," she looked down and away before gesture with a timid hand down the hall, "Dr. Regan is currently seeing to him and sent me away saying it was no place for someone like me to see such sights."

Ben bit his lip at saying that the doctor was right, remembering a little bit of what he knew about Betsy from Henry. Apparently they were born almost ten months apart from each other and were close. Henry said that Betsy had a similar temperament to him and from what Ben knew about Henry, it was mostly mulish stubbornness that was exacerbated for the most part on their neighbor Liam's account. "Your brother is a good and stubborn man, Betsy," he said instead and saw her nod at his words before looking away, hastily wiping her eyes again.

He felt a quick pang of sorrow for her, but pushed past it as he went down the hallway and opened the door to the room that the doctor was apparently operation on Henry. The sharp odor of copper assaulted his senses and Ben was momentarily taken aback, remembering the drip of blood from the freshly slaughtered chicken, before seeing a quick flash of the bodies of the patrol he had lost in New Jersey. He clamped his lips shut against the sudden bile that threatened to rise up in his throat and swallowed heavily as he forced himself to focus on the here and now.

Henry was writhing in pain as the doctor dug around for the bullet in what looked like an apparent shoulder wound that was closer to the chest than shoulder. Ben's instincts kicked in as he rushed over and helped hold down one of his shoulders. At the same time he re-secured the leather stuffed in Henry's mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue off. Ben gritted his teeth as he put is weight against Henry's body, hoping for the boy's sake that he pass out soon instead of suffering in so much waking pain. He vaguely remembered his own bullet wound being taken out, but supposed that since it had been shot from the back, it was a lot less painful than being shot in the front.

"Got it," Dr. Regan finally grunted, pulling out the bullet just as Henry finally passed out from the pain. Ben quickly placed two fingers underneath his soldier's jaw and found that his pulse was thready and fast, but still strong. He breathed a quick sigh of relief and nodded to Henry's two younger brothers who had been charged with holding him down. They smiled weakly back as they crawled off of their brother's limbs and Ben stood back as Dr. Regan went back to work on the wound.

"Come now," Ben looked up at what had to be Mrs. Adamson gesturing for her sons to leave and Ben caught a glimpse of Betsy behind her with a small smile on her face at their success as the door closed behind them.

He stepped back some more and watched the doctor bustle around for a few minutes before glancing down at the bowl where the bullet had been dropped into. A frown graced his features as he stared at the bullet itself and picked it up. He absently dried it of its blood and water on the side of his traveling cloak, and rolled it in his fingers a few times. He had grown up with his father's multitude of pistols, flintlocks, and rifles and knew the variety of rounds and the sizing differences in each. A Pennsylvania rifle had a much smaller round than a soldier's musket ball. Though musket balls were commonly made, each soldier had been given the tools to make their own the day they enlisted.

The rifle ball they had pulled from his shoulder courtesy of Robert Rogers had been a Pennsylvania rifle make, smaller, but with a far more accurate range in the hands of a sharpshooter.

This was a soldier's musket ball. He was sure of it. Which meant Robert Rogers was not hunting them...it was a soldier's. But this far from any known British outpost. Was it a deserter from the Continental army that had ambushed Henry? But why when he could have easily stolen from the next house over like Mr. Adamson had said? Something about this did not seem right...as if someone had deliberately targeted Henry to send a message.

But what was the message? And who was it to?

~END Part 2~


	9. Between Two Worlds - Part 3

Letters Home: Between Two Worlds

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Story:**

* * *

Sleep had been elusive earlier in the night before Harry Adamson pounded on the door to the house – but now, Ben knew that he was not getting any sleep for the rest of the night. Not with the grim faces of his father, Achilles, and Duncan that had greeted him upon his return home half an hour after seeing to Henry's wounds. He had been told that someone seemingly dressed in the greens denoting the Queen's Rangers had almost been caught outside of the house, peering into the windows. Duncan had frightened off the intruder attempting to climb into the house through the room he had been using as his temporary quarters. The intruder had fled, swift-footed across the packed snow, making the others think it was perhaps a native or someone who knew the lay of the land.

It had thrown all of Ben's questions regarding the origin of the musket ball that had been shot into Henry's shoulder into question. He had thought a soldier had sent a message, but now with the mention of forest green uniforms and potential natives...could it have been the Indian he knew worked with Rogers?

Though he had never witnessed Connor's abilities to leap from tree to tree with the barest of ease, he had seen his seemingly light-footedness and predatory stance when he had first met him at the Homestead. Maybe all natives had such abilities...and if it was true, maybe it did herald the fact that it was Robert Rogers was in the area. Which meant a lot of things, but Ben did not discount the fact that he and Rogers had an enmity for each other.

Duncan Little had offered to set a watch of sorts, but Ben had declined his offer, stating that he would keep watch instead and now found himself rounding the house a second time. He stepped carefully in his own previously made tracks, glancing occasionally down at the other set of tracks that had been the intruder's, mixed with Duncan's more frantic steps of pursuit. He had spent the last hour using the moonlight rounding the house, studying both the tracks and where the snow had been disturbed outside of the house as the mysterious would-be intruder had tried to come in.

Had Rogers' man wanted to set an ambush for him inside the house? Or was it not Rogers' man, but someone who was trying to throw them off their scent and attempting a feint of sorts. Was the intruder's target Achilles and Duncan, or even perhaps his father since they were all Assassins? That seemed the more likely cause, the more he studied the footprints and thought about the musket ball that had been shot into Henry. Like Harry Adamson had said, the Griffiths had a far more bountiful harvest, so there was no reason to attempt to rob the Adamsons of their meager grain. If his soldier's wound was a feint and ploy to draw him away so that an attack could be made on the rest of the household, then it had nearly succeeded.

That seemed the more logical choice, but Ben could not help but think he was missing something very important. Samuel would have known what to do, by virtue of seemingly having a quicker mind than he; it was how his brother was promoted faster than he was. He sighed, feeling the small ache of pain in his heart that he knew belonged to his brother Samuel. Just a little over a year since his death and Ben still missed him, especially since he had seen his father and enjoyed the first proper meal in over three years with him. Watching his father teach Duncan the finer techniques of rifling had brought forth memories he had not known would create such a hurt in him at the loss of his older brother.

He sighed again and rubbed his hands quickly, creating a slight warmth in them that he did not quite feel on his finger tips as he quietly entered the house once more. He shed his cloak and adjusted his uniform's jacket; the snow covering it earlier now dried. Heading into the parlor where a small fire was going, he stood near the fireplace and absently warmed his hands. Ben tried to push away the sudden nostalgia at the memory of his brother and instead focused on the mystery of someone attacking Henry as well as skulking outside of the house.

Perhaps it was Templars, disguised as the Queen's Rangers, or were even part of the unit itself, somehow finding out that Achilles and Duncan were here. It made sense to him; only because he knew he would have sensed something amiss while he and the rest of his small unit had ridden into town earlier. It so happened by luck or providence of sorts that he had gotten caught in between the Templars and Assassins. Or perhaps he had ruined the Templars' plans for Achilles and Duncan and they had regrouped to attempt to wound his men to draw him away.

But something in his thoughts told him he was wrong. That he was missing a key component; yet Ben could not figure out what. He rubbed his forehead in a small circle as he sighed wearily and sat down by the fire, staring at it.

"Samuel had that same look the night he decided to join the Continentals," the soft voice of his father spoke up at the same time Ben heard the creak of wooden floorboards being stepped upon.

"You should be asleep," he chided gently as he saw his father round one of the chairs and sat down in it. There was a candlestick in his hand as he set it on the small end table.

"As should you, my son," his father stared at him with a wan smile before shaking his head, "but I know all too well the sudden appearance of danger followed by the lull of peace after the danger has passed. Just as I know that you won't sleep until you've puzzled out whatever puzzle you have been left with."

"Probably someone looking to break in and steal valuables," Ben commented offhandedly, but the look he received from his father told him that even he was not buying the flimsy excuse. However, his father refrained from commenting and instead, smiled wistfully.

"When we received the notice that you had joined the Continentals, Samuel immediately stood up from the dinner table and declared that he would join the cause too," his father snorted quietly, "I think he was surprised that you would be so emboldened to join first. Perhaps thinking it a rivalry of sorts besides doing his duty."

"Samuel always did like competition," Ben remembered fondly, "climbing trees, being the muddiest, even swimming across the Sound. Rifling, letters to each other, even philosophical debates. He'd probably have already solved this current trouble I'm dealing with since he was far more observant than I was."

His father sighed and nodded in agreement before rubbing his lower lip. "Benjamin, there is something I must confess to you."

Ben saw his father flick a look at him before the wistful smile was replaced by a more grimacing look.

"I sent you away all those years ago because I did not want you to be a part of the Brotherhood-"

"But I chose of my own free will-"

His father held up a hand to stop him from talking further, "-I sent you away because I wanted you to choose. I...didn't allow Samuel to make that choice."

It suddenly made sense in Ben's head as he saw the metaphoric puzzle pieces fall into place. Like the clarity and revelation of a spirited debate where the carefully crafted words inserted themselves and made it known in a winning argument. And just like that, everything about his father, about the Brotherhood in relation to his family, and even Achilles' request made so much sense.

"Samuel was an Assassin," he said quietly, staring at his father in a whole new light.

"Aye, that he was," Nathaniel Tallmadge replied, "and he was my apprentice until the war broke out and he joined the ranks of the Continentals. He would have been apprenticed to one of the other Assassins, like Betsy Andersen at Yale, but she had deemed it too risky since we had all been in hiding since the purge."

"Or even Nathaniel Sackett," Ben added and his father nodded.

"Aye, if I had known he was alive back then...he probably would have been the best teacher Samuel could ever have," he said before sighing again and rubbing his chin, "Benjamin, you were the second son and I wanted you to live your own life outside of the Brotherhood." His father gestured roughly towards the stairs and the rooms above, "Now Achilles wants a Tallmadge to serve in the Brotherhood, even though I've already told him it is not my choice nor would I press you to make it."

"Why?"

"Achilles...sees talent, potential, and the chance to serve a goal and brotherhood greater than what anyone else can possibly imagine. He sees the chance for a greater good, a shaping of the world where free thought can reign instead of having such thoughts forced upon one's self," his father explained patiently though he looked pensive.

"What do _you_ think Achilles sees?" Ben asked and caught the surprised look his father shot at him before a small smile curled the corners of his lips.

"Your observation skills have certainly improved since I saw you last," he said and Ben felt a small amount of pride swell in him at the praise. "I think Achilles sees power that if left unchecked would be squandered. That he wishes to control elements and people he thinks might have connections to power or be able to influence such power so it is favorable to the Assassin Brotherhood's long-term goals-"

"Which are-"

"-Something I will not and cannot tell you, Benjamin. There are secrets that even I am not allowed to tell those who are not of certain rank and order in the Brotherhood," his father shook his head, "but I will warn you that Achilles is persistent if not stubborn in his zeal for the goals of the order itself."

"Do you not want me to join the Brotherhood?" he asked.

"I can't say," his father looked tired.

"Can't say, or won't say?" he countered.

His father bowed his head for a moment before looking back up at him, "Would you have accepted my order I told you what I wished for you?"

"I would accept it as counsel," Ben raised an eyebrow at him and saw a smile appear on his father's face as he nodded.

"True, after all, you never really listened to any of my other missives and letters, especially about your expenses at Yale and the like," his father chuckled lightly and Ben smiled a bit, "so then you may take this as counsel. While a part of me wants you to join because it would afford you so much more protection in your capacity as the Head of Intelligence to General Washington, I do not want you to join for the same reasons.

"You would be drawn into a war far more deadly. A war that has already claimed thousands upon thousands of lives over hundreds of years. Families have been affected by the war between the Assassins and Templars; even friends, brothers, fathers, sisters, husbands, and wives have betrayed each other or discovered the other to be part of either order."

His father hunched forward a little bit, his fingers tenting together as he rested his chin on the webbing in between his thumb and index, "The Assassin Brotherhood follows three basic tenets, or a creed so to speak. One of them was to stay the blade from the flesh of an innocent. It is easy to say the Templars have no such qualms, but I can say for certain that neither does the Assassins in terms of following our creed. Innocence is subjective."

"I could very well be targeted by the Templars if they ever found out you were an Assassin even though I was never part of the order. Even though I'm technically innocent since I am party to neither order," Ben said and saw him nod in response.

"Even our informants or anyone we might rescue, target, or seek to influence can be either considered innocent or not. So, then who are we to say we must stay our blade from an innocent?"

"It seems like you thought about this for a long time," Ben said and his father sat back up, leaning against the cushions of his chair with a long sigh.

"I took my teachings as a Reverend seriously, Benjamin," he gave him a sideways look, "it wasn't for show nor for cover. I truly wanted to find something other than what I had devoted a majority of my life to; to understand _why_ I had done what I had done in my line of work. Why I had raised my children so, and why I had lived my life in this way."

Ben was quiet for a moment as he considered his father's words. He chewed his lower lip for a moment before tentatively speaking up, "Do you think Samuel was captured and imprisoned on the _Jersey_ because he was an Assassin?"

He never knew the circumstances behind his brother's capture, only that he had been and was sentenced to the _Jersey_ as were almost all other officers who had been captured by the British. But now, with the revelation that his brother had been the one to take up the mantle of an Assassin instead of him, he wondered what shadowy power could have possibly conceived such a thing and if it was not as simple as a capture of a Continental officer. General Arnold had indicated that he knew his brother and had served with him, but he supposed it was just the capacity of being a soldier to soldier.

"That...I do not know," his father confessed with a shake of his head, "but Benjamin, you must not let paranoia take hold of you. Do not see the Templars and Assassins in every corner or else it will drive you mad."

Ben nodded, "I know, I know. I just..." He shook his head again, "Do you know what I told Connor the first time I met him? He knew that you were a part of the Brotherhood, but asked why I was not."

His father tilted his head for him to continue, "I told him it was because I wanted to someday raise a family. And that I realize to do that, I could not join the order." It was his turn to hold up his hand to silence his father from saying anything as he continued, "Samuel and I had a good life growing up, no matter the circumstances. But it's also something that I long realized since before Yale. It's something I'll tell Achilles each time he asks me to join. I cannot devote myself to anything else because General Washington has my absolute loyalty already. I cannot guarantee loyalty to a Brotherhood that may ask me to betray someone I long trust and hold sacred to myself without coming into conflict with them."

His father suddenly laughed lightly and Ben stared at him, puzzled, before Nathaniel shook his head, "Samuel said something along those lines the day he enlisted and brought his Lieutenant's commission. Except it was absolute loyalty to you, Benjamin."

The wistful smile appeared back on his face, "In hindsight, I think he was jealous that you were allowed to choose your path and perhaps resented that I forced him to train as an Assassin before he truly knew the sacrifices it entailed. To him, joining the Continentals and joining you might have meant that he would be at least somewhat free from the Brotherhood's goals and ideals – though we hardly had any goals before Connor's presence. Maybe it was to protect you from whatever influences the Brotherhood might exert upon you, maybe it was for other reasons, but I do not doubt your brother's intentions. His loyalty was not to the Brotherhood, but to you."

Ben drew in a sharp breath and stared at his father, stunned at the revelation. His older brother had what? At the same time he felt the same echoing pang earlier in his heart. Hearing that his brother had been so devoted to him to almost chase after him and sign up as soon as word had reached his family of his enlistment in the Continental Army. It certainly explained a lot about Samuel's actions when he had found out his brother had also enlisted and purchased a Lieutenant's commission. But to find out that it was because of some absolute loyalty to him? That touched him greatly. Even though Samuel was the older one of the two, he always followed him around, whether it was climbing trees, or even learning how to rifle with their father's guns. Granted, Samuel was the first one to learn by virtue of being the eldest, he always seemingly acted like Ben was the older one at times.

"I don't think Achilles realizes yet, but he probably soon will. Our family is known for its absolute loyalty to a cause, to a person, or even to an order whenever we put our bull-headed stubborn minds to it. I never realized where Samuel's was and thought I could direct his loyalty to the Brotherhood like I did. Little did I know, you already had his undying loyalty like General Washington has yours. The Brotherhood has mine, but I think at this juncture, there need not be any Tallmadges in the Order anymore," his father said before getting to his feet and patted Ben gently on the shoulder, "get some sleep son...it will do you no good for you to be dead on your feet tomorrow or even worry about the Old Man's persistence. The problem you are puzzling out will more than likely resolve itself."

The silence left in the wake of his father's departure was loud and broken with the occasional pop and crackle of the fireplace. Ben rubbed his eyes, feeling the scratchy dry feeling in them. His father was right, he needed rest and it was more than likely he was over thinking certain elements of the problem. For all he knew, it was his paranoia getting to him – the mounting frustration at events over the last few months reaching its peak. Washington would not defend himself against his detractors, Lee was a traitor, and his own incompetence and faults at not being able to control his agents was stressing him out. Adding to that was Achilles' request to join the Brotherhood and the fact that he had found out that Lee was a Templar. This latest incident with Henry being shot and someone found skulking outside the house was driving him mad with frustration and paranoia.

He rubbed his eyes again and stared into the fire. Even with his father's reassurance, Ben knew that he would not be sleeping tonight. Settling himself for a sleepless night, he leaned back against the high-backed chair he was sitting in and instead, let his thoughts wander.

* * *

The sudden high-pitched scream of a woman startled Ben as he snapped open eyes he did not realized had slid shut since his father had left the parlor. He was already up and moving, automatically grabbing his cloak and wrapping it around himself as he threw open the front door and ran out. He abruptly skidded to a stop at the horrific sight that was before him; the schoolhouse was on fire.

Ben's first instinct was to run to the stables. There he found a bucket that had been used for watering the horses and ran back out. He rushed to the well near his house and quickly pulled the rope to bring the cold, but unfrozen water from the bottom. At the same time, he looked up at the sound of the door slamming open and close and saw his father and several others hurrying out of the house, headed to the stables to pick up more buckets.

"Here!" he saw Duncan rushing towards him, holding two buckets and nodded as he filled his own and left the large pail on the side of the well for Duncan to fill the ones in his hands.

Taking the bucket, he ran as fast as he could towards the schoolhouse, mindful of the water inside. He could see the townsfolk already gathering, the men hurrying towards the schoolhouse with water pails of their own. Women and children were still rushing out, some into the outstretched arms of their parents while others huddled around the teachers. His steps slowed as he got closer to the burning schoolhouse. The flames had consumed the roof already and Ben knew in his heart that the large schoolhouse could not be saved, even with people still rushing back and forth, dumping snow and water on the flames in an effort to stave the fire.

"Major!" Ben turned to see Liam pushing his way through the crowd as he set his bucket down.

"Liam," he greeted, noting the soot and sweat that covered the young man's face and clothes. There was a shine to his eyes and Ben thought it was probably from the horror at seeing his former schoolhouse burning as well as by trying to help with rescue efforts.

"Major, Sergeant Davenport's still in there...was saying something about rescuing his children or something-"

Ben immediately looked back at the burning building and pursed his lips. He knew John would never leave until the last child was rescued – it was similar to how he commanded his division, waiting until the last man had retreated or was the first to advance into the fray. The back of the schoolhouse would be the most likely place to retreat as he studied the flames and grabbed his bucket, hurrying towards the back.

As he ran through the tall grass and bramble, shying away from the incredible heat that was melting the nearby snow, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to tell Liam to stay behind, but instead, saw that it was Duncan, carrying at least one bucket full of water with him.

"I saw you head back here-"

"One of my men is inside, that idiotic bastard," Ben gritted his teeth as they rounded the burning building and to his relief, saw that the back had not been completely consumed by fire. The roof was definitely starting to smoke, but it seemed like most of the flames was eating the front of the building.

"John!" he yelled, cupping one of his hands to his mouth, "John Davenport!"

Duncan was silent beside him, but Ben caught an intense look on his face as he seemingly strained his neck towards the building. "I hear someone," the man said after a few seconds and Ben tried to focus his ears towards the building, but heard nothing.

"Where are they-"

"No," the older man's hand shot out and grabbed his arm as he shook his head, "I can pinpoint where they are, you cannot. I will go."

"But-"

"Throw the water in as soon as I kick the door down," Duncan said and Ben nodded reluctantly, as he grabbed his bucket and approached the door as Duncan readied himself to kick it down. He could see smoke already filtering out of the cracks and knew that they did not have much time to find Davenport.

"Now!" Duncan called out at the same time he heaved a heavy kick to the already weakened door.

Ben closed his eyes against the sudden burst of black smoke that shot out of the opening and held his breath as he threw the water blindly towards the open door. He thought he heard Duncan scramble through as the smoke stung his eyes, watering them and he coughed. At the same time, he accidentally inhaled a lungful of the black smoke and quickly stumbled back, waving his hand in an effort to clear the air. He cracked open his eyes as he tried to blink the involuntary tears from them, coughing again; there was no sign of Duncan or John as black smoke continued to pour from the doorway. He looked up to see that the fire had now started to spread down the back roof, quickly eating away at the dried wood, even with the small amount of packed snow on it.

Ben was so engrossed in watching for any sign that Duncan had found John and that John had found his children that he did not realize someone else had approached. It was only the familiar feeling of cold-hard steel of a pistol pushed against his the back of his head that he realized his initial gut feeling at been right. All of this, the shooting of his man and even this fire, it _was_ a trap.

"Put the bucket down and raise your hands up, Major. My compatriots would like a word with you," Ben stilled at the voice that gave him the ultimatum.

John Davenport was never inside the burning schoolhouse. Instead, he was the one holding the pistol to his head. And the only 'compatriots' Ben knew of that was not the British, were the Templars – Sergeant John Davenport was a Templar.

~END Part 3~


	10. Between Two Worlds - Part 4

Letters Home: Between Two Worlds

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Story:**

* * *

Ben found himself being reluctantly herded beyond the schoolhouse and towards the more wooded area behind all of the houses that belonged to the teachers. "John, what ever they-"

Davenport made a quick shushing noise and dug the barrel further into the back of Ben's head making him fall silent. He continued to march across the snow, the crunch of packed snow mingled with crisp dried leaves underneath seemingly echoing loudly in the nearly silent woods. But he knew it was drowned out by the crackling roar of the fire consuming the schoolhouse and knew that no one nearby would be able to hear anything.; which meant no one in town or in the houses nearby would be able to come to his aide. All of them were at the burning schoolhouse, trying to do whatever they could to save it or help rescue those still trapped inside. He suspected that was what the whole plan was, to distract the town itself and lead him away from curious eyes.

And by God it worked. It worked so well that Ben knew he should have trusted his feeling earlier; that something was wrong and that he should have followed his instincts. Ben assessed his surroundings as he saw the small dots denoting people grow larger as they approached what looked like a small clearing. A frown appeared on his face as he saw that there were at least two people kneeling on the ground, a person holding dual pistols pointed at their heads. Another stood by the side, rifle held loosely in his hands as he stood at rest.

To his dismay, as they got closer, he realized that the two kneeling on the ground were Henry and Betsy Adamson. Henry was clearly still wounded, blood soaking through the bandages Dr. Regan had wrapped him up in. Betsy's eyes were red rimmed and tearing, though the two looked up as he approached.

"M-Major-"

"Quiet girl!" the soldier, dressed in rough green attire that was reminiscent of the Queen's Rangers, said harshly down to Betsy, cutting her off with a muffled whimper. Ben saw Henry's eyes track him with a seemingly bleary coherence, more than likely drugged with laudanum. His face was pale and his cheeks too bright to be rosy from the cold. The young man must have ran a fever during the night after the bullet had been taken out.

"Let them go-" he started.

"Shut up, sir," John's pistol dug harshly against his head, making him grimace as he felt himself being pushed forward before the pistol settled in between his shoulder. "Oy, you, I've done what you asked now let my family go."

Ben flicked a quick look back to see John's jaw set with anger as he glared at the one who was holding the rifle loosely in his hands. He realized that John had not betrayed him out of any sort of gain, but rather out of necessity. Whomever the two were dressed like Queen's Rangers, they had threatened John's family too, much like they had more than likely shot Henry and probably set fire to the schoolhouse. It felt eerily like when he was dealing with Newt, his brothers and cousin over a year and half ago.

"On the contrary, Sergeant Davenport," the one holding the rifle took a step forward, "you are right where we need you to be. You _will_ continue to stay where you are, or else all I have to do is to fire this rifle into the air and your wife and your baby daughter will die." He turned his gaze towards Ben and a small smile graced his craggy features. It reminded him of Captain Simcoe and the snake-like predatory look he always wore.

"So glad you could join us, Major Tallmadge. I will be remiss in introducing myself as a simple Mr. Welles," the man said in a pleasant tone, tapping the barrel of his rifle in an absent manner. He gestured with a chin towards the one pointing pistols at Henry and Betsy's heads, "this is my colleague, Corporal Ames." Ames flashed him an unkind smile as Betsy whimpered, the fabric of her dress bunched in her hands in fear.

"What do you wish of me?" Ben asked behind gritted teeth, trying to tamp down on the surge of anger he was feeling.

He wished there was a way to signal to Liam that he needed reinforcements, but knew that the young man – and more than likely also Alexander – were at the schoolhouse, trying to save it like the others. Daniel and Samuel were too far away in Farmington to be of any help. As long as this Mr. Welles had his rifle in his hand, he held John's family hostage. Ben flicked a quick look at how loosely it was held in his hands, trying to calculate if he could disarm the other man before his companion shot Henry or Betsy. He had to find a way to communicate with John holding the gun to his head that everything would be fine.

"My fellow compatriots would really like you to stop meddling in our affairs," Welles said in a pleasant and amicable tone, as if he was simply discussing the weather instead of threatening him.

"Compatriots," Ben all but spat, "not the Queen's Rangers, I'm presuming?"

"Told ya he's a smart one," Ames spoke up and Ben saw Welles shoot the other man a dark look.

"And here we thought we were being clever," Welles glanced down at his uniform and seemed to pick an imaginary piece of dirt off of it, "I suppose not having Robert Rogers here does seem a bit suspect."

"I would have expected an ambush," Ben replied, "though hostage taking is not above him."

Welles made a humming noise of agreement as he nodded, "Yes, yes, but as I had said before, my fellow compatriots would really like you to stop meddling in our affairs."

"And this is the warning?" Ben gestured with a quick flick of his hand and felt the gun shift against his head.

"Oh no," Welles' smile was full of teeth, "this is not even close to a warning. This is just a simple execution."

Before Ben could do anything Ames suddenly fired one of his pistols, making him jump a little. But the shot was not directed at him, and a second later, he saw Henry's body pitch forward lifelessly, a bloody hole through the back of his head. He could not stop the gasp that escaped from his lips and even sensed John's shock as the gun digging into his head wavered. Betsy's face was splashed with bits of blood and grey matter as she stared in mute horror at the body of her dead brother. Silence reigned in the clearing for a few seconds before Ben caught the moment when Betsy regained use of her faculties. Her fingers trembled as they touched her mouth, her eyes widened in abject horror-

"No, wait! Stop! Stop!" he shouted as he saw Ames about to shoot the pistol and held his hands out in an effort to stop him from shooting Betsy. "She's innocent! She's not a part-"

"She's a witness," Welles cut him off softly, "and you dragged her into this yourself Major-"

"Please... _please!_ " Ben had never thought to resort to begging, but he took a step forward, ignoring the push of John's gun into the back of his head to stop him from moving another step, "Please don't shoot her, okay? Don't...for the love of God, don't-"

His words stuttered to a halt at the sudden banging discharge of Ames' pistol going off. Betsy's chest suddenly bloomed red as she fell to the ground with a sudden sharp cry before falling silent. He blinked, knowing somehow that what he had seen, he should not be so shocked at, but at the same time, could not believe that it had happened. Betsy had only greeted him with a watery smile just hours ago in the middle of the night, had given her thanks for saving her brother. Henry had even survived Dr. Regan pulling out the ball, was looking to make a full recovery since he was so strong. The two were supposed to have survived the war, Betsy probably to be married to someone in town or nearby and raise healthy children. Henry was going to be like his father after he received his bounty, a prominent lawyer and open his own practice. The two had _futures_.

And to see both Adamsons lying face down on the ground, blood pooling a crimson stain upon the powder-white of the snow... Ben almost could not comprehend it. He could feel himself shaking a little, but as he felt the tears form in his eyes, he quickly banished it at the same time feeling the swooping _fury_ at what had happened. He instead, glared at Welles and Ames.

"Your quarrel was with _me_ ," he said quietly, marveling inwardly at how calm he sounded when all he wanted to do was to take John's gun away from his own head and shoot them dead.

"We can hardly call them innocents now, can we?" Welles said, keeping his tone pleasant as he rocked back and forth on his heels, occasionally tapping on the rifle in his arms. "After all, they were associated with you and your unit."

"What," Ben stated flatly as the words rang familiar in his mind. His father's words about one of the tenets of the Creed echoed in his mind. _Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent_. And Welles had said something eerily similar to that... It hit him as he realized who they and their 'compatriots' were.

Templars. Templars dressed as Queen's Rangers and more than likely a part of the British forces. The British somehow knew about him, maybe about his father's work as an Assassin? But that did not make sense...or had the documentation that had been stolen from Sackett's papers named him as the Head of Intelligence and perhaps Major John Andre was a Templar? But if he was, Ben was sure that Connor would have assassinated him by now, since Andre was more than likely the one who had turned Charles Lee to the British.

There was also another factor to consider, that the Templars did not know his familial association with the Assassin Brotherhood and simply had been ordered to kill him. But Ben did not put too much stock into that as he saw Ames calmly reload one of his pistols, his other one holstered to be reloaded later.

"Ah-ah," Welles suddenly spoke up at the same time Ben heard John shift behind him, "please don't make this any harder Sergeant Davenport."

"I won't kill him," he heard his Sergeant rumble behind him, "you can't make me kill him-"

"Not even for your wife and child?" Welles tapped the barrel of his rifle as Ames snickered, still occupied with reloading his pistol.

Ben swallowed hard. He realized that his execution was more than likely to come by John's hand and darted a look to his side. He could feel the barrel of the pistol digging into the back of his head shake. He surmised that it was more than likely from rage and from fear and all of his animosity towards John and his betrayal fled from him at what they had forced his man to do. He wished Caleb was here...Caleb would know what to do – quick with his tomahawk and quicker with his words.

"Just what the hell did the Major do here-"

"Ah, no," Welles held up a finger, waggling it back and forth, "you do not presume to pass judgment-"

"Judgment or not, Major Tallmadge doesn't deserve to be killed by you skulking assassins-"

The moment the cold metal of John's pistol moved from the back of his head Ben realized what he was going to do and was about to voice his protest when he found himself shoved to the side. At the same time he heard the echo of a rifle being shot behind him along with the report of a pistol. He heard John grunt as he regained his footing and grabbed the un-fired pistol in the man's hand, pulling down on the flintlock as he looked up.

Ames' fell to his knees, his fired pistol falling from lifeless hands. A neat hole decorated the middle of his forehead with a trickle of blood trailing it. He fell forward, dead even before he hit the ground. Ben's eyes darted to Welles who had stared in momentary shock before fumbling for his rifle-

He had his pistol up and fired at the same time he saw Welles discharge the rifle into the air. His shot struck true as Welles' head rocked back, the ball wedged right in-between the man's eyes and he collapsed sideways to the ground, also dead. A moment of silence, echoed loudly by the report of the guns going off, filled the clearing.

Ben lowered the still smoking pistol and glanced behind him to see who had shot the rifle. To his surprise, saw his father lowering his familiar Pennsylvania rifle, a grim look on his face. His father had killed Ames, after years and years of preaching as a Reverend and even saying that he was done with killing and war after his service in the Seven Years War.

A movement out of the corner of his eye, made him look down to see John, clutching his chest as blood poured out of it and he immediately knelt down next to his Sergeant. He clutched the man's hand at the same time John grasped onto the sleeve of his jacket, staining it with blood, but Ben did not care. "You did the right thing-"

"I-I know...c-couldn't let...bastards..." John struggled to speak as he choked and coughed, spitting blood out of his lips, "m-my family-"

Ben had almost forgotten that Ames had not readily pointed the rifle at him, but had rather shot it into the air. The signal to whomever was holding John's family hostage to kill them. "I'll make sure they're fine, I'll make sure-"

"P-Please...Major...I-It...was an honor..." John's hand suddenly fell away from his and the last bubble of breath left him as he died. Ben wanted to scrub furiously at the tears that threatened to pour out of his eyes, but instead, stood up and ran up the small hill his father had stood on to shoot Ames.

"Benjamin-"

"Give me your pistol," he demanded and saw his father stare at him with a curious look, but handed over the pistol he carried by his side. Ben grabbed it before kneeling a little and pulling out the knife he had in his boot with his other hand.

"Ben what are you-"

"Davenport's family is in danger. Welles was shooting off a warning signal," he replied curtly with a look at his father, before he turned and ran towards the tavern as fast as he could.

He heard the harsh crunch of snow under his boots, his breath coming in cold gasps as he drew upon his knowledge of the woods, shortcuts he had learned in his three years of living here. He leapt over bramble and snow cover logs, splashed through small streams and ignored the acrid smell of smoke and screams of those who were still trying to put out the fire at the schoolhouse. Finally, Ben careened into the town center and put on a burst of speed, the niggling sense that something was terribly wrong pushing him to go faster as he burst through the doors of the tavern-

Only to find Alexander Mayfield coughing rather violently into a bucket, Mrs. Davenport rubbing soothing circles on the young man's back as she held a small tin of water near him.

"That's it...take it easy..." she said quietly as Ben took in the scene before him. She looked up at his entrance and tilted her head in puzzlement. "Major?"

The cooing giggle of a baby made him turn to see Liam bouncing John's daughter in his arms, apparently taking care of the girl while Mrs. Davenport attended to Alexander. There was nothing to indicate that either were being held hostage.

"Major Tallmadge?" Mrs. Davenport called again and Ben belatedly realized he was holding his borrowed pistol aloft and lowered it. He sheathed his knife into his belt instead of where it usually was kept in his boot.

"Uh-"

"Alexander was trying to rescue someone inside and breathed in too much smoke. I was going to take him to the well, but Mrs. Davenport saw us out there and brought us in to sit down," Liam spoke up before gesturing with a chin towards the weapons he had on him. "Is something wrong, Major? I can get my things-"

"Did anyone suspicious stop by?" Ben asked, ignoring Liam's question as he directed asked Mrs. Davenport.

"No, Major," she frowned puzzled as Alexander coughed again into the bucket. "Was there supposed to be? My husband-"

Ben drew in a stuttering breath at the mention of John. "He...he thought he saw the person who set fire to the schoolhouse, ma'am..." he lied, and saw her stop her rubbing motions as she caught the quaver he tried to keep out of his voice.

"J-John...where-"

Ben opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing would come out. Finally, he forced himself to speak, "I'm s-sorry- They were armed and shot him-"

"No...no..." Mrs. Davenport's eyes grew wide as she suddenly sank down next to Alexander. He was acutely aware that Liam was staring wide-eyed at him at the news, still holding onto John's baby girl.

"I...I thought you should know...right away..." Ben finished lamely, wincing at the keen wail that emerged from her lips.

There had been no hostage taken at the tavern; which meant that Welles and Ames had bluffed their way into strong-arming John to hold him hostage. He wished John had known about that before he died. But it was too late...and Ben could only feel utterly helpless at what had happened.

* * *

Ben trudged up the small hill in the woods with a heavy heart. He crested over the ridge and stopped as he saw several people clustered in the area. John's body was in the process of being shifted onto the stretcher. Two were already bearing a stretcher with a body covered with cloth it down the hill. It was more than likely Henry's body as he saw the third one being lifted with Dr. Regan fussing over it. Ben hurried down the slope as he realized that Betsy was still alive, but stopped as he saw his father and Achilles talking with Mr. Adamson. All three looked up at the sound of his appearance before he saw his father speak a few words and move away, headed towards him.

"Benjamin-"

"She's still alive?" Ben asked, glancing beyond him to see Dr. Regan and the two stretcher bearers disappear down another small hill.

"Yes, but her wound is grave and serious. The ball went through her and Dr. Regan says she lost a lot of blood. If she survives the night and the next few weeks, she may recover, but I fear she may never recover from what she probably saw," his father held a hand against his chest to prevent him from following them. Ben stepped back, head bowed at his father's words, suddenly feeling like a child in front of his father.

"It's my fault-" he began, but stopped as his father placed his hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"Benjamin, it is by the will of God that this has happened-"

" _They were Templars_ ," he suddenly hissed, the swooping fury returning momentarily as he jabbed a hand towards Ames and Welles' dead bodies. "Insomuch of their words, Father. They were-"

Ben stopped as his father suddenly embraced him tightly, a soothing sound issuing from his lips. He heard his voice rumble in his chest, "-They were going to kill you and I would have never allow that to happen. Never..."

He nodded against his father's embrace and felt his arms release him before stepping back. "Your vow-"

"Never," his father repeated with an unreadable look, "I'd rather break my vow than to lose you. I will not lose you, not like I lost Samuel or your mother. Achilles and I speculate that those two men must have overheard you talking with the two of us yesterday and planned accordingly. They thought to get to you to get to us. They ambushed Duncan when he went into the schoolhouse, and coerced your man Davenport there, to distract you and ultimately kill you as a warning to us, to Achilles and indirectly to his apprentice Connor."

"But-"

"Achilles told me that you think Charles Lee is a Templar. Have you given any indication to him that you side with the Assassins or have any affiliation with them?"

Ben thought rapidly about what had happened at Bridewell Prison. True he had defended Washington, but it was in the context of actually defending him from an attack, not anything associated with the Assassin Brotherhood. He was pretty sure Lee did not see Achilles in the crowd, nor witnessed him bumping into him before Connor's execution. "No, but-"

"And Connor already knows the other Templar leadership which are not within Washington's army," his father cut him off gently, squeezing his arms in reassurance, "so there you have it, my son..."

Ben pressed his lips together, the sudden well of emotion nearly overwhelming him. He realized that his father was serious and the more he pondered his reasoning, the more it made sense. But at the same time, he realized that even if he had not been associated with the Assassins, he had come close to being killed by the Templars, just because he had apparently been spied upon talking with known Assassins.

"The Templars do not know of your lineage, Benjamin because they do not know of me. They only know you as who you are, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, the commanding officer of the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons. Your standing in their eyes is safe," his father reassured him and Ben could not help a small tiny smile at the irony of the words. It echoed the same exact statement he had made to Abe regarding his standing as a Tory in Setauket.

"Ames and Welles?" he gestured to the two bodies dressed in green.

"We will take care of them after seeing if there are any intelligence upon their persons to pass along to Connor and the others," his father said as he let go of his arms.

Ben sniffed and rubbed his nose, finally allowing the tears to appear in his eyes, "You know, it's amusing that in all of this, you'd think me to join the Brotherhood, no? I mean, to protect my men from this...killed in their own hometown even..."

"Your answer is still no, am I correct?" his father smiled sadly.

"If only to protect my men even further from retaliatory attacks by the Templars just by associating with Assassins..." he replied, running a hand through his hair, "it wasn't supposed to happen like this..."

"War never is," his father replied sagely, "but at least I sensed something amiss enough to save you. It's something Achilles said was valuable to the Brotherhood and has save my life along with the lives of others more often than not. I am glad that it has not gone away and that I was still able to put my skills to good use."

Ben could only give a watery smile back as his father clapped his hand on his shoulder and steered him to go back up the hill. In that instant, he knew that he could never voice to his father that he had that same skill, that same _sense_ of danger, that gut feeling that helped him avoid ambushes or the killing blow from others. Because if he voiced it, it would not only put himself in further danger, but become a beacon for those in both the Brotherhood and Templars that such things were passed down family lines. And as much as Ben loved his father, he knew that if he ever had family, he would have to protect them from the machinations of the Brotherhood and of the Templars; much like his father had done so to him. But he would do it outside of the Brotherhood's influence.

The Templars had proven to him that they were willing to go to great lengths for their never-ending war with the Assassins. And that made Ben even more driven to protect Washington from their machinations – now that he knew what to look for. The only question remained was, why? Why did they target him when they could have easily targeted his father or Achilles.

* * *

 **Coda:**

He pretended to be engrossed in the latest news printed by the Continental papers, with the casual, lazy air of an officer off duty and enjoying some good port on a mild winter day giving way to spring. But in reality, watched the comings and goings of the camp like a predator. There was a certain person due to return within the last two days and while accounting for potential trouble on the roads as well as inclement weather, he made it his mission to see if said person would actually return.

In reality, he was hoping to see just four of the seven that had set out for Boston before the New Year, returning early March. Two of them were supposed to report to him discreetly, but he would be content in just seeing four of seven. Just as he was about to go and re-read the same passage one more time, he heard the thunder of hooves across the campgrounds and looked up.

The smile that had been on his face became a little fixed at the sight of _five_ instead of the four he had been expecting. And the fifth one, the one in the _middle_ of all things was still wearing his fop of a dragoon helm and looking hale and _healthy_. Not even sporting a single wound. He watched, dropping his smile as they rode by and stopped near the farmhouse that housed the Commander-in-Chief and the senior Generals.

"Thought you'd be stuck in Boston with all of the snow we're getting here, Tallmadge," he called out with a touch of arrogance in his voice. Inwardly, he was seething. Those _idiots_ had failed. They had utterly failed even when he had clearly told them what route Tallmadge and his men would be taking on their way back from Boston. It had been provided to him by the man he had in that group.

"What, couldn't find a wench in the city to warm your bed? Play your _hornpipe_?" he echoed Tallmadge's words back to him as he stood up and sauntered over. "Came back because you prefer-" He held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture as the man stomped over to him with a murderous look on his face.

"The cold must have addled your wits to not even recognize a jest, _Major_ ," he said mildly as he saw Tallmadge's eyes dart over to the new golden epaulettes on his shoulders. They denoted his new rank of Colonel instead of his previous position as Lieutenant Colonel and he was rightly proud of them.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel Bradford," Tallmadge replied with an edge to his voice and a toothy smile that he did not like, "I'm sure your competence was well deserved under such an illustrious and battle-hardened General. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Tallmadge dismissed himself with the briefest nod of his head, leaving William Bradford standing there, staring at his back as he headed into the farmhouse. Those _idiots_ had failed, even after he had provided them with the semblance of green to pretend that they were Queen's Rangers. He shot a look at his man who was in the process of dismounting and saw him made a motion to indicate that even he did not know how Tallmadge had survived the assassination attempt. Bradford gritted his teeth together in anger as he decided he would make a report to Lee about this. His only saving grace was that it seemed Tallmadge had no indication that he had a mole in his group, nor was he aware of who had orchestrated it.

It was perhaps time for a new plan.

~END~


	11. Broken Trust

Letters Home: Broken Trust

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Set during Season 2, Episode 9 "The Prodigal" and concurrent with Sequence 10, Mission 2 (with slight modifications to both). After Ben's return to camp, he is ordered to investigate the natives' involvement with British forces and the war. Crossroads and paths converge as Connor confronts him about his alleged involvement in the attack on his tribe. The tentative alliance that had been forged between the two is violently broken.

 **Story:**

* * *

It was hard for Ben to keep the sting of hurt from appearing on his face as he sat on his horse. He had been dismissed from the General's door in the farmhouse without even making his formal report to him about the state of troop readiness in Boston. He had hoped for Washington's forgiveness with a positive report. He had consoled himself by retreating to his tent and writing out his report so that at least Washington would be able to read it. That was one thing he knew the General would not ignore. He had considered putting in a small missive about further intelligence and of the death of Major Hewlett that he and Caleb had seen a couple of months ago, but had stopped when he supposed it would only inflame Washington's ire towards him.

That had been a few weeks ago and there was not even a reply from his General or even a summons. He had seen his General wandering about camp in that time, his guards, and Billy Lee behind him, but Washington had not even deigned to come near his tent. He had seen General Arnold summoned to the tent that Washington occasionally inhabited in between his quarters in the farmhouse, but then saw the General leave, marching angrily to his own quarters.

A few days later, he saw the General leave, head held high, a pinched angry expression on his face. He learned that Arnold had been posted as military commander of Philadelphia and was on his way there. The men cheered at the news, but Ben had caught Bradford, Lee, Conway, and the others that had denigrated Arnold behind his back snickering at his supposed 'misfortune.' Ben supposed that it was somewhat of a misfortune that Arnold would not see combat this year against any force unless the British foolishly decided to attack Philadelphia again. He would be settling affairs and taming riots in the city. But Ben held out hope that perhaps once the city was settled, Arnold would be recalled and he would be able to serve and fight like the proud soldier he was on the front lines. Ben's only consolation for the impressive General was that he would perhaps strike up a friendship with the venerable Peggy Shippen he had heard of him talk about in their brief meetings in camp.

But no orders came to him from Washington and so Ben had resigned himself to drill and train his troops, most of them having taken up some patrol shifts after their month-long scout along the Schuylkill River last December to stop British troops from supplying then-held Philadelphia as well as to raid those supplies for Continental use. It had been long, arduous, and Ben was glad that his men had the chance to rest just after the New Year as he went to Boston for his inspection.

Caleb had not arrived back in camp and Ben feared that he was somewhere in the bottom of York City harbor, the one-man confines of the Turtle his coffin and grave. He held out a small candle of hope, especially since Caleb was an expert seaman, but at the same time knew that there was the greater chance that his friend was amongst the long-list of casualties of the war. It had started with his best friend from his Yale days, Nathan Hale, and now Caleb Brewster was part of that list. He supposed he would have to soon add Abe to that list if Caleb was truly dead. Caleb had told him three days to extract Abe from Sugar House Prison, and it had been more than three days since.

Ben refused to let the despair that he was alone eat at him as he sat high in his saddle, watching his men drill with the Marquis de Lafayette. Near them, in another area, was his dragoons. They were completing cavalry maneuvers with Baron von Steuben who had recently arrived from overseas.

"Sir," the voice of Joseph, one of the army's pages spoke up and Ben glanced down to see the young soldier hand him a folded note with Washington's seal on it.

"Thank you," he said, taking the note and tipping his hat at Joseph's salute before he left to deliver more messages around camp. He had long wondered why the young man would not become one of Washington's aide-de-camps, but Joseph had told him long ago that he preferred to be on the front lines, to fight with the men for a cause he fervently believed it. That had warmed Ben's heart and he had appreciated the young man's sentiment.

He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his fingers a little cold from the winter thaw that was happening around Valley Forge. The letter was succinct and contained only orders. Washington was worried about rumors of natives who had joined the British cause and wanted him to investigate and if need be, put a stop to their activities. There was a local tribe north and east of Valley Forge, near Poughkeepsie, New York where he could inquire into the rumors and put forth the request for the natives to stop their alliance with the British.

Folding the letter back up, Ben wondered if Connor had anything to do with this, but it did seem odd that the natives were allying themselves with the British. Connor had proven that he was allied with the Patriots, but then again, Ben knew that he was part of the Assassin Brotherhood. His father and Achilles had made it clear that sometimes the goals of the Brotherhood were vastly different that the goals of the Patriots or even that of the British. They fought their own war against the Templars within this conflict for American Independence.

He wished he knew where Connor was at this very moment. He could easily ask him about Washington's concerns instead of going to the natives. However, since he did not know and the orders were explicitly clear that he was to depart as soon as possible, he could not write to Achilles inquiring about Connor's location. Sighing quietly, he dismounted his horse and walked over to Baron Friedrich von Steuben, the Prussian drill and horsemaster who was staring out at the cavalry forces.

"Sir," Ben interrupted quietly and the Baron turned to him, "I've received orders from General Washington to take a small detachment of my men to investigate rumors of natives involved with the war."

He handed over the orders he had received as the Baron scanned it. Ever since the man's arrival in mid-February, troop morale had grown along with the warming of the weather. The Baron had made changes to the way the camp was run, re-organizing and distributing food, clothing, and proper equipment as well as instilling a sense of discipline in the men that made him popular. The Baron had also developed a reputation for swearing while drilling the men and it had made him popular with them. Ben found him to be a good instructor if a bit grandiose and prone to getting his way even though he had volunteered as part of the Continentals. The one thing he had learned very quickly was that any for patrol, any soldier that needed to leave one of his currently-conducted drills had to present orders or at least have their commanding officer be there to confirm the orders. The Baron disliked having his drills interrupted and though Ben could see other balk at that, he understood that it was a way of keeping the men focused instead of having their thoughts wander or for them to think of other things.

"How...many men you need?" Baron von Steuben was also slowly learning English, though Ben had to strain himself a little to hear through the man's thick accent. Thankfully though, between him and the Marquis de Lafayette, the two conversed in French and the Marquis spoke English. Ben wished he had learned some French at Yale, but it was all Latin, Greek, and Hebrew for him. He was, however, picking up a bit of French from being near the Marquis and watching him drill the infantry part of his unit. He still couldn't quite pick up the guttural Prussian the Baron spoke though there were some shared words.

"Four should be enough for a small scouting party," he said.

Washington's orders were to investigate and if they found anything to parlay the natives to not ally themselves with the British. He did not want to show any hostile intention towards them, but also did not want to alert the British of their intentions. Though the Continentals nominally held New Jersey, Morristown their fallback headquarters, it was still rife with British patrols as well as Continental patrols. He wanted to travel fast and light.

"Very well, Major," the Baron nodded, handing him his orders back, "I give sugges...Frederick, John, Daniel, and Kurt. They good men, good horsemen."

"Frederick is also a sharpshooter," he pointed out and the Baron nodded with a small smile.

"He likes to hide," the Baron indicated with a vague wave of his hand towards where Ben could barely make out the faces of four of his men. He did not quite understand what the other man meant until he saw John give a challenging look to Frederick who only shrugged and performed the same maneuver on horse, but then suddenly duck his head, as if shy. He realized that Frederick more than likely was a good as John, but tended to be humble and shy about it. Hence why he 'hid.' He knew that John and Fred were good friends as well as friendly rivals, both Sounders from Stratford and Fairfield respectively and from whaling families. They usually got along with Caleb really well, trading whaling stories and the like.

The Baron suddenly barked a command in German before he saw one of the Baron's adjuncts issue the same command to John and the other three and saw them heel their horses and trot up the hill towards them. He nodded his greetings to his men. He knew that Samuel would have been with them, but he had injured his leg dismounting a day ago and was on bed rest from the doctor's orders. Both Samuel and Daniel had been saddened to hear of what had happened the day they had been due to rendezvous at Wethersfield, but they also understood that it was war.

"Pack provisions for three days, we're headed on a quick patrol," he ordered and they nodded before heading off to their tents and the provisions tent to pack for their patrol. He was glad that they obeyed his commands without even questioning his orders – and was immensely proud of their unconditional commitment to the cause. Whereas, there were several units he knew had deserters, he had not heard of even a single one of the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons deserting during the harsh winter at Valley Forge.

Seeing that his men were situated, Ben headed back to his own horse and guided it to a post and tied it up before heading to his own tent. In reality, the journey would only take a day or so, but he wanted to prepare for an extended stay with the natives in case negotiations took longer than usual. He quickly packed up a small travel bag with the necessary items he needed before checking the weaponry he had on himself. Sabre secure, pistol secure, and his two knives, one on his belt, the other nestled safely and securely out of sight in his boot, he finally checked the documents he had. He tucked some of the more important and secret correspondences in a locked box he had taken from Sackett's own wagon after the man had passed. It had originally contained the man's own correspondences with his wife and had been left alone after the assassin had ransacked the area. The box had gone unnoticed since it was cleverly hidden amongst some of the more fouler-smelling experiments Sackett had been conducting before his death. Ben kept his discreetly near some of the more odd-smelling experiments he had also taken from Sackett's wagon. They were situated near the entrance of his tent flap, almost ignored by anyone who came in thinking that the odd smell was that of a latrine bucket or some food gone bad, and that was the way he wanted it.

Seeing that everything was in order, he headed back out and was pleased to see the four men that were to accompany him almost done with their preparations as he swung into his saddle and waited for them. They soon joined him and Ben headed out of Valley Forge.

* * *

They rode northward before turning east and stopped to rest after a few hours. Though Ben normally would have started the patrol in the morning, he had only immediately set out late in the afternoon because he did not want to earn Washington's further ire. It was one of the few things he knew he could do well – soldier on and follow orders even though it seemed Washington did not welcome anything he had done in relation to intelligence gathering and the like. He supposed that was his only consolation now that he had lost his position as the Head of Intelligence. He wondered if one of Washington's aide-de-camps like Hamilton had filled the position, or maybe General Scott had been recalled. He knew the General camped with the rest of them at Valley Forge, but had barely seen the man in the brief times he was in camp.

His men were used to camping in the woods, even falling asleep in their saddles, their month-long foray up and down the Schuylkill River all but hardening them to the harsh elements. If they had left in the morning Ben knew that they could camp in the newly built Fort Westpoint near Poughkeepsie and be fresh and ready to enter into disputed territory between the natives and the colonists. Albany was part of the disputed territory, but it was also a central trade hub for both trappers and ships going up and down the Hudson. However, since he had left in the late afternoon, he and his men would have to content themselves in staying in the wilderness for the night.

Ben estimated that they were near the border of Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. It was not the most ideal place to camp since it was a known British patrol area, but it would have to do for now. Any further south and they would readily encounter the British haranguing the Patriot camps in New Jersey, north or west would take them into the more hilly and mountainous regions which were still snow covered and colder. East was out of the question – east was York City.

"We'll set watches," he said as he dismounted, finding a small clearing off the path that they had taken, "small fire, rations for tonight."

"Sir," his men nodded as they too dismounted and started to prepare the camp. John and Kurt left to gather dry kindling while Frederick and Daniel busied themselves with the horses.

There usually would be tents pitched, but since he had ordered watches and a small fire, it meant that they were on active patrol – meaning they all would be sleeping quite close to the fire tonight, using the horses as a shelter of sorts from the cold elements and their own packs. Active patrol meant that they would have to mount up at a moment's notice. It wasn't ideal, but Ben did not want to chance any ambush until he knew he was in secure territory.

John and Kurt came back a few minutes later with a small bundle of kindling in their hands and Ben helped organize a small stone circle for them to set their kindling in. He went to grab one of the oil-soaked cloth he kept in one of his saddle bags and found a good-sized branch nearby to wrap it around before returning just as the two started a small spark. The kindling burned quickly, but before it went completely out, Ben touched his makeshift torch to the kindling and it quickly caught on fire.

He handed it to John who nodded and returned to the woods with Kurt to search for more kindling and larger sticks of dry wood to use for the night. Ideally, he would not have had to use the oil-soaked cloths as torches, reliant on searching during the daylight hour, but since the daylight was still waning early, it was the only option.

"Sir, the horses are bedded down for the night," Daniel came over and gestured for him to look around and he smiled in approval at the sight of each of their horses kneeling or standing in a circle of a sorts around the fire. His own mount was absently chewing some hay, more than likely stubbornly refusing any attempt for Daniel or Frederick to making him kneel on the ground until he was good an ready.

"Get some rest, you will have middle watch with Kurt. I'll take first one-" he stopped heard the crunch of leaves and cracking branches and tensed for a second before the familiar dripping torchlight signaled the return of John and Kurt. Relaxing, he let his hand go from the butt of his pistol, "Kurt, you're taking second watch with Daniel. John and Frederick, third watch."

"Aye sir," Frederick replied as he helped the other two with their bounty by relieving them of the torch and stuck it into the kindling and woodpile they had set up.

A small fire sprang up and Ben found himself gravitating towards it to warm himself. The others took their packs and situated themselves around the fire, Daniel breaking out some of his food to eat while John had opted to immediately fall asleep. The burly man placed placing his hat on his face as he shifted himself against the flank of his horse to use as both a makeshift pillow and source of heat. Ben smiled a little as the others snickered at his horse's reaction to the movement near him by nibbling on the man's tricorn, only to be batted away by an absent hand.

Frederick had procured a small dirk and was absently pouring some whale oil onto a cloth and rubbing it much like Caleb had during the times he was not needed in camp. Ben felt a sudden pang of sorrow at the absence of his best friend that he quickly pushed away. "Get that from Lieutenant Brewster?" he asked quietly so not to disturb John.

"Aye sir," the other man replied, finished with his ministrations on the dirk and procured yet another small dagger from somewhere on his persons and started to rub that. "Brewster, sorry, the Lieutenant sold it to me for fifteen pounds. Told him he was robbing me, but it's really high quality and plus reminds me bit of home."

"Huh," Ben decided not to let Frederick know that Caleb got a profit of an extra three pounds from the whale oil. He watched as Frederick produced two more daggers from his being, this time from his pack and blinked. Just how many knives was the man packing? "Ensign-"

"Skinning knife, this is actually me mum's kitchen knife," the other man replied before finally putting the cloth down and stuck all four into the fire as they lit up and burned away whatever material had been left on them. He watched with a little trepidation as Frederick flipped one in his hand, the fire barely touching his fingers as he caught the dagger expertly in his hands on each flip.

The acrid smell of burning oil finally reached Ben, but just as quickly, he saw Frederick douse each of the four small flames he had going on his knives and examine them in the light of the fire with an expert eye and pursed lips. He seemed satisfied with his work before he sheathed all of them back where they came from and tipped his hat at him as if to say good night and settled down with his arms folded across his body.

"Fred, can I borrow-"

"No," was the short reply from closed eyes and Ben hid his smile at Kurt's crestfallen face.

Daniel laughed next to him as he finished eating and settled himself against his own horse and pack. Kurt only seemed to shrug in resignation before also settling himself to sleep before he would be woken for second watch. Kurt was formerly a trapper and fur trader from the Massachusetts regiment that had joined the 2nd Light when they were raised in Wethersfield. He knew his skinning knives really well and had even helped the other procure some on the black market trade for their use when they were on scouting patrols.

As Ben watched his men settle into Morpheus' arms, he could definitely see the improvement in morale, in discipline, as well as generally in how they conducted themselves since his absence. The Baron had really out done himself in training the men and he knew that if his men were like this, the whole of the army was for the better. Attrition and desertion still wore at the Continental Army, but there seemed to be a hope that had not been there before he left. He could only hope that the natives Washington had sent him to investigate would not join the British – otherwise, he knew that the small candle of hope that had been lit since the passing of winter, would be quickly extinguished by the brutal way the natives fought.

* * *

It was the harsh gurgling, choking sound that roused him from his slumber, but what truly made him awaken was the heavy weight of a body falling half on top of him. Ben snapped awake in time to see the life leave Daniel's eyes, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The sudden danger sense screamed a silent warning and he pushed Daniel's body away while he rolled opposite in time to avoid the cleaving blow from a tomahawk that crashed down.

Ben scrambled to his feet, drawing the knife he had on his belt and half-drew his pistol before he froze at the sight of his attacker. The familiar white beaked hood of the native Assassin was perched on a half-fallen log next to Daniel's fallen body. "Connor! What-"

"Where are Sullivan and Clinton?!" Connor demanded harshly as he leaped at him. Ben backpedaled quickly, barely got out of the way of the native's tomahawk. He finished pulling out his pistol and pointed it at Connor who stopped again, tomahawk raised. The man's expression was utterly fearless at the gun pointed at his face and charged at him again.

But he only got one step towards him when the bang of a pistol going off in the dark startled them. Ben blinked in surprise at the sudden appearance of a greenish hue around Connor that seemingly sent a small _ping!_ into the night. However, all of that was suddenly obscured as he ducked again and hastily blocked the tomahawk arcing downwards at him.

He instinctively kicked, but caught Connor's twisting foot that hooked around his own and found himself tumbling to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Jamming his pistol into the ground to right himself, Ben found his dagger flying out of his arm at the sudden flash of pain from a blow to his wrist and grunted. He stumbled off-kilter at the uneven footing outside the radius of the clearing the camp was in.

"Connor-"

He saw Connor raise his tomahawk again, but suddenly stagger and grunted in pain as something silvery flashed in the night. Ben saw the faint glint of a dagger sticking out of the native's left arm before Connor turned and lunged towards where Frederick had appeared, holding his skinning knife and dirk in both hands. John was on the opposite side of the fire, furiously reloading his pistol. Near him, Ben saw what could have been the slumped body of Kurt, more than likely dead.

"No, wait! Connor don't-"

He saw Frederick twirl on his knives in anticipation of Connor's attack and knew that he had to stop Connor from killing anymore of his men, but also to get answers. Ben stood up, his bruises aching, but he forced himself to move and launched himself at the Assassin. Ben managed to catch him by his legs and tripped him to the ground. But Connor was already moving, rolling with the fall and lashed out. The coppery taste of blood spurted into Ben's mouth as pain flared across his face from the vicious kick Connor managed to land on his face. It forced him to let go of his pistol his hand going to his mouth to stem the blood from his split lip. He saw Connor swiftly roll to his feet like a mountain cat before suddenly turning and pouncing-

Ben only had a hairsbreadth of warning before he instinctively dropped his dagger, and put both of his hands up in a defensive catching block. He barely stopped the small stiletto-like blade that suddenly appeared from the man's _wrist_ from skewering him. He caught it just as he felt the tiniest prick against his cheek and gritted his teeth against the deathblow he knew Connor had attempt to deal to him.

"Connor, stop-" he could feel the blade cut the smallest line on his face, "we're not your enemies- Frederick, stop!"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw both Frederick and John halt, surprise evident on their face from the moonlight and from the flickering fire.

"Sir-"

"Connor, stop-"

"Where are Clinton and Sullivan, Tallmadge?!" Connor demanded harshly, trying to push against his own counterweight to skewer him. Ben strained his muscles to push back, shocked at how _strong_ the half-native Assassin was. He could feel his arms shake from exhaustion, the thin line now cutting a little deeper into him.

"I have no idea what the _hell_ you're talking about!" he growled out, "Sullivan and Clinton are at Valley Forge-"

"You lie!"

Ben felt the tip of the blade rake a thin line of pain down his cheek as he almost faltered and was able to barley recover to keep the blade from his face. Now, though, it hovered just under his jaw, near his jugular.

"Sullivan and Clinton were sent to kill those in my village down to the very last child and salt the land! I saw those orders on Washington's table in his tent!" he yelled and Ben's eyes darted to him in surprise. This close, he could see the barely held-back rage in the man's face, the dark eyes of a predator, and the feral outrage at what he had discovered.

"I swear," he realized that he had maybe one chance in convincing Connor with his words that he did not know, that he had no knowledge, because if those orders were true, it meant- Ben cut himself off from that thought as he shook his head, "I swear Connor, on my father's live and service, that I did not know anything about that. I received my orders to attend to the native tribes near the disputed territory around Albany to convince them _not_ to ally with the Loyalists. Washington was concerned about the potential of British forces using natives as allies-"

"Washington _burned_ my village when I was just a boy-"

"Connor! Connor-I swear I didn't know-" Ben could see that he was losing and made a last effort to stave off the native's incredibly powerful strength on that tiny blade that was sprung from a wrist-strapped hidden contraption.

"And he'll do it again! You were sent to notify Sullivan and Clinton to attack my tribe-"

"I wasn't!" Ben could see Frederick and John looking back and forth between the two, John with two pistols pointed at Connor, Frederick itching to pounce on Connor, but the two thankfully held to his orders. A fleeing extraneous thought passed through his mind for the discipline they showed was indicative of the Baron's training. "Connor, we were allies! We helped each other-"

"No! You-"

"You know me! You know I wouldn't do something like this!"

"Do I?!" Connor glared darkly at him and Ben swallowed heavily, as he could feel his strength waning, his hands shaking against Connor's far more superior position over him. The point of the blade now was pricking his neck and Ben knew that he could not do anything to move it further away. It would either plunge into his chest, into his jaw, or into his neck at this rate. Plunging it into the dirt and bramble he was lying on was out of the question as the blade had become all, but parallel to it, making it nearly impossible.

"You know in your heart that no matter what, I would _never_ condone such a fiendish scheme. That this is not the work I would see to it done. That if my Commander-in-Chief ordered it done, I would _protest_ strongly with my very being. That I would not see such harm befall him or his soul. If he had ordered such an atrocity, it is not within his nature that I know of," Ben said slowly and carefully, mildly surprised at how calm he was in the face of his impending death. He supposed that perhaps God had decided it was his time, that his death would come at the hands of an Assassin – of all ironies. "If I must die by your hand, then know this, I die with the truth in my heart – I did not know of this. My men did not know of this, they are _innocent_."

Something must have resonated with Connor as Ben realized a half-second later that he was not dead, that there was no bloom of brief pain and then the gates of Heaven opened up to him. But nothing of Connor's thoughts had appeared in the Assassin's dark eyes from what he could see. Just as suddenly there was the barely sound of a soft _snick_ and the blade retracted into the contraption on the wrist and Connor roughly shook him off, standing up. He towered over him, his eyes still hooded and dark.

"You have orders," the man stated and Ben nodded carefully, still wary that Connor would plunge the blade down into him as he cautiously sat up He gingerly rubbed his neck, smelling the brief smell of copper and twinge of pain from where the blade had cut into it.

He reached into the folds of his jacket and pulled out the small folded paper with Washington's seal on it and handed it over to the Assassin, "I received it early this afternoon."

"Sir-"

"Hold, John," he looked up at John who was nervously fingering the triggers on both pistols as Connor walked two steps closer to the fire to read the missive. He knew that it was an unusual circumstance he men were seeing him in – defying all conventions of officer to a civilian to boot as well as allowing said civilian to see orders.

Connor was silent for a few minutes, more than enough time for him to read the few sentences on the paper several times over. Ben watched, still sitting on the cold, frosty ground, wondering what the Assassin was going to do. He knew that anyone else would take advantage of the momentary distraction offered and attack, but Ben wanted Connor to trust him again, to show that he truly meant no harm and was telling the truth. After a few minutes, he saw Connor shift a little bit, his left hand loosely curling and uncurling and realized that Connor had expected him to attack while he was 'occupied.'

Instead, Ben waited the perceived sign out and was rewarded for his efforts as Connor folded up the orders and turned back around. There was something now in his dark eyes that Ben had not seen before. He did not know what it was, but he somehow knew that it was specifically directed at him and no one else.

"The problem with my tribe will be addressed by myself alone. Follow and I will kill you without a second thought," Connor warned and Ben nodded. "Generals Sullivan and Clinton had been sent to Fort Westpoint to await further orders should your negotiations fail. It is plain to see that they were to attack my people if they did not stay neutral or ally with the Continentals in this war."

"Your people are known for their fierce woodsman skills and fighting techniques," Ben said and caught the hint of a wolfish smile on the man's face before it returned to its neutral expression.

"Do not follow me. I will deal with this," Connor warned again before suddenly sprinting off. A few seconds later, he heard the whinny of a horse followed by the sound of bramble being crunched underfoot as the horse galloped away. Ben and his two remaining men were left in the remnants of their camp.

* * *

A few days later, Joseph hailed him as he crossed the camp, claiming that a man in a white hooded Continental uniform with blue accents was looking for him. Ben immediately knew that it was Connor and hurried to the small log house that had been specifically built to house prisoners. There were several in the camp, but the more immediate one was the same one where prisoners of importance were house – usually defectors. It was near Sackett's wagon, the man wanting to be close enough to question a prisoner without walking halfway across the muddied, snowy Vallye Forge. But it was also far enough that nothing important could be overheard except for common soldiers talking around the prisoner.

He entered and found to his slight surprise, Washington's manservant Billy Lee waiting inside along with one of Washington's aide-de-camps, Alexander Hamilton. Ben saluted the Lieutenant Colonel, wondering what the man was doing here, but Hamilton gave no explanation for his presence and instead, looked at Billy who cleared his throat a little.

"This man approached me to find you, sir, and I thought it prudent to alert you," Billy said, "I also notified General Washington of his arrival since he is known to the General, but Colonel Hamilton is here to represent him, sir."

"Understood," Ben nodded.

It certainly explained Hamilton's presence in the small log cabin. Though he did not know Hamilton well, having graduated from King's College as opposed to Yale, he did understand that the man more than likely had Washington's confidence over certain matters, having been his aide-de-camp for the last two years. However, he was surprised at the fact that Washington knew of or about Connor. He did know when the two had ever met, but he surmised that it was more than likely during the time he was in Boston.

"You wished to see me?" he turned to Connor, noting that the Assassin looked worn, almost melancholic. There was something in his posture that seemingly tried to bow in pain, but could not – as if he refused to let it affect him so. Ben noticed that there were flecks of brown on some of the white parts of the man's jacket, even on the blue panels. Connor had fought somebody, or someones and more than likely had killed them. But somewhere in that kill, he had been reluctant and sad about – which meant it was more than likely personal. Something had happened with his tribe since they had last met.

"It was Lee who was behind it all," Connor said quietly, staring at him with the same look he had seen at blade point just days ago, "Charles Lee tricked members of my tribe into attempting to attack Clinton and Sullivan at Fort Westpoint to force a retaliatory attack. They believed that the Continentals were there to take their land. Clinton received a report from Lee stating that the natives were about to attack and so sent the report for an attack on my people to stop them and salt our lands."

Ben nodded, refraining from adding that it was what Connor had seen and misinterpreted before riding out to stop him and his men. Instead, he caught the Assassin's eyes and let him read the sincerity in his posture. "Thank you, for bringing this to my attention."

Connor took his thanks with a short nod as he stood up. Ben knew that the proud Assassin would never apologize for attacking him, nor would he fault him for it. Connor was only doing what he had perceived from the pieces he had with him at the time and Ben knew that it was because of the limited intelligence. He had learned something in the past year and half he had served as Washington's Head of Intelligence. Ben could only hope that Washington would do the same, even with all of the evidence he had tried to present to him before his sacking.

He stepped to the side to allow Connor to leave. The Assassin walked a few steps and drew parallel to him as he paused. He saw the native flick him a concerned look. "Charles Lee is a Templar and traitor," Connor whispered for his ears only.

"I know," Ben replied, aware that both Billy and Hamilton were staring at them.

He did not say anymore and instead, hoped that his hard look would at least convey the frustration of what he knew and Washington's inability to do anything about Lee. It seemed his look succeeded as Connor only shook his head and walked out. Ben was left once again to his frustrations at how easily Lee had almost manipulated the whole situation. The man needed to be reigned in or arrested for treason, but Ben did not know how to do it and Washington's inability to do anything about it only made him even more frustrated.

He supposed the only way now was to gather more information on his own, in an unofficial capacity and hopefully, when the opportunity presented itself, present it to his General.

~END~

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

The Sullivan Expedition occurred around 1779 where Washington sent Generals Sullivan and Clinton to attack the natives, burn their villages, and salt their lands who allied themselves with the Loyalists in upstate New York. It was one of the first cases of a 'scorched earth' policy being implemented in war by the U.S.

 _Assassin's Creed 3_ placed the Sullivan Expedition mission before the Battle of Monmouth, which would have been mid-1778 instead of it's actual historical date of 1779. I've kind of finagled both _AC3's_ narrative and actual history into all of this for it to make sense. Also, the original mission required Connor to kill all of the scouts who were sent to warn the Patriots of the impending native attack and so I kind of turned it into something similar, but since I was sort of casting Ben into the role of the scouts, I couldn't exactly kill him – hence this modification – some of his men die (ala the scouts) while some lived.


	12. Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot - Part 1

Letters Home: (Gunpowder) Monmouth

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Season 2, Episode 10 "Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot" and Sequence 10, Mission 3 "Monmouth" alternate scene. Ben is forced to chose his allegiance between the Brotherhood and Washington. Alliances are made to be broken.

 **Story:**

* * *

The lines were holding well into the afternoon as Ben and Caleb galloped up to the ridge where Washington was directing the main cannon defensive line. He had sent the rest of the 2nd Light to await him near General Greene's lines while he reported to General Washington for more orders. General Wayne and Scott had him reform the 2nd Light to round up the stragglers earlier after their successful ambush of both British calvary and infantry lines in the woods. Afterwards, Scott had sent him to Washington for more orders and to tell the Commander-in-Chief the good news. That was where Ben found himself now with Caleb at his shoulder.

"Ben, we should let Washington know-"

"Not now," Ben shook head, "it's a risk, I know, but we can't distract him, not until the British are routed."

The letter Caleb had given to him containing the fact that there was a plot against Washington sat like a lead weight on him. He wanted to read it, but there were skirmishes still going about and Ben needed his wits about him. He had a feeling that once he finished reporting to Washington, Greene would want to 2nd Light to force a charge against Cornwallis' lines to make him retreat.

He glanced behind him to see Caleb with a flat look on his face, but accepted it as they rounded the ridge. Ben grimaced at the sudden blast of cannons going off one by one, but before he could speak, he heard the sound of hooves beating against the ground and turned to see the Marquis de Lafayette rushing up the ridge.

"Marquis!" Ben called out and the Frenchman waved as he skidded to a stop.

"Sir!" the Marquis sounded out of breath as he turned to address Washington, "I had to order a retreat of the secondary cannon lines. The British are pressing against the lines and my men cannot hold them." Just then, several loud explosions filled the air from the hill to the right they were on.

Ben watched, horrified as bodies of red were tossed into the air along with the metal shrapnel of cannons. At the the same time, he caught the peek of numerous redcoats advancing around the slope of the smaller hill. He wheeled his horse and got ready to charge downwards in an effort to try to save the Patriots who were escaping from the sudden advancement of British troops. He could see some reforming their lines on the hill Washington occupied as the redcoats started to open fire. But even before he got two steps down, Ben saw a flash of a familiar hooded figure dressed in white and blue take down the back of the redcoat line.

"Connor!" he heard the Marquis called out behind him.

"So that's Connor," Caleb said next to him, pulling on his horse's reigns.

"Aye, and we're going to help him-"

"Uh, I don't think he needs your help Benny-boy," Caleb said almost at the same time. Whatever proclamation that they were going to help died on his lips at sight of Connor furiously cutting through the advancing British lines. It looked like a mad slaughter, but Connor's actions gave the Patriots more time to get to safety and reform their lines. Ben spurred his horse forward to meet the incoming men as they regrouped.

"Make ready!" he called out, raising his already bloodied sabre high up and saw the men glance at him before following his commands.

"Ben-" Caleb's call down a different forming firing line was filled with cautious hesitance; and while Ben knew that his best friend thought he was going to hit Connor with the firing line, he also knew the way the Assassin worked. He had seen him fight on several occasions now and knew Connor would anticipate what he was doing – at least that was the hope. There was always a chance, but Ben pushed all doubt from his mind.

"Aim," he could see Connor's tomahawk flashing through the jaw of one redcoat and thought he caught the quick look the other man shot at him before he suddenly twisted and pulled a redcoat to shield his own body. "Fire!" Ben called out at the same time and the rifles discharged, hitting the rest of the redcoats who had been scattered by Connor's initial attack.

Screams filled the air as the platoon was completely cut down and Ben glanced down the line to see the Marquis also doing the same with another reformed line as did Caleb. The three platoons that had tried to take Washington's hill had been completely routed as the rest who had tried to advance turned their backs and marched away. Ben smiled at the sight as the men cheered around him. He saw Connor drop the body of the soldier he had used as cover from the returning fire. He started to smile in greeting before he realized that something was wrong. Connor was moving with the same predatory stalk that he had the dubious honor of seeing just a few weeks ago when he and his men had been attacked at their small camp by the Assassin.

Ben quickly dismounted and approached the Assassin with a hand held out, "Connor-"

"Get out of my way, Tallmadge," Connor's voice was cold and hard and his normally expressive eyes were flinty with anger.

"Connor-" Ben found himself roughly shoved to the side before he could say anything else and stumbled on the uneven ground. "Connor!" he called out as he regained his footing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Marquis and Caleb both dismounting, having seen what had happened and were hurrying over.

"Where is General Lee?!" Connor demanded loudly as he approached Washington.

To Ben's relief, he saw the Lifeguard go instantly on alert, pushing Washington back as his General stared at the approaching Assassin with an unreadable look on his face.

"If you had heeded my warnings, then _none_ of this would have happened!" Connor shouted as Ben sheathed his sword and approached the volatile Assassin. He needed to defuse this before the Lifeguard shot Connor. He also needed to calm the Assassin down before anything else happened. "Lee betrayed you! He was planning your downfall and yet you spare him?! Where is Lee?!"

"Connor-" Ben reached out with his hand and just as he clasped the other man's shoulder, every instinct screamed in warning. It was as if time had suddenly slowed down as he used his instincts and _reacted_ at the same time Connor spun and struck with the quickness of a viper. He saw the silvery glint of Connor's hidden blade coming towards him and _spun_ up the hillside they were on. Twisting around Connor's shoulder, heedless of the gaping concern of the others around the two of them, he drew out his pistol and pulled back on the flintlock just as the other man stumbled on the uneven ground. Time seemingly sped up again and Ben found himself with the advantage as he pointed the gun directly at Connor's head, their positions on the hill reversed from what was just mere seconds ago.

"Connor," Ben could not believe that it had happened in less than a blink of an eye, but he found his voice and breath steady, "Stop. Please. Don't force me to fire this."

There was a cornered look in Connor's eyes that Ben never knew were an golden-brown. This close, he could clearly see the features that made Connor a native as well as the features that were not so wholly native. He could see the tension of muscles, the look of a predator that was turned into prey, but at the same time, could see the anger and frustration on Connor's surprisingly youthful features. At the same time, Ben caught the glint of something under that golden-brown gaze...as if it was respect.

He realized with a start that Connor wanted to continue to question Washington, but clearly had respected the reversal of attacker and defender that had just happened. He also realized that it was not every day that one caught someone like Connor completely off guard...and if he was Achilles' student, it meant that he had extensive training – far more than he had from time-to-time with his father growing up. Connor was a seasoned hunter and Assassin who had the tables turned on him by someone who was as untrained as he was.

And Ben was suddenly terrified.

He refused to let it show, but he was terrified not of himself or his current position, but for what it meant to others to see Connor like this. As much as he did not support the Assassin Brotherhood or wanted any affiliation with them, he could not deny that they and the Templars, were a driving force behind this war. And it had to stop. But neither could he let Connor be seen by the Templars like this; not with his own ties to the Brotherhood. They needed to be strong...but they also needed to take their war elsewhere. Ben realized that this secret war had embroiled so many people that it need not to anymore.

The hidden blade sudden retracted with a quiet _snikt_ and Ben pulled back, relieved to find that the Assassin was still willing to listen to reason. He lowered his pistol, but did not loosen the hammer in case it was all an act. He had learned too many hard lessons to know that the hearts of men in this war were deceptive and cruel. Though it hurt to think of Connor as one of the deceptive people he knew, he also knew him well enough as both an Assassin and as a person that anything less would have been considered both idiotic and insulting.

It seemed Connor thought the same as he saw the corner of his lips twitch up in a mirthless smile, "This is the second time I spare your life. It will be the last." His gaze slid past him and he gave a mocking bow towards Washington. "Enjoy your victory, Commander, for it is the last I will give you," the native said in a cold tone before walking away.

It was only then that Ben half-cocked his flintlock as he saw the Marquis rush down the hill past him and approach Connor, talking in low hush tones. He pursed his lips and shook his head.

"So, that's Connor, yeah?" Caleb asked as he glanced up to see him ambling down the hill, absently swinging what looked like one of Sackett's unusual looking pistols in his hand. He fiddled with the spring catch, letting the small bayonet shoot forth before retracting it by pushing it gingerly back with his hand. "Seems a bit...touchy..."

"He's a good man," Ben absently said as he watched the Marquis and Connor continue talking, the Marquis apparently gesticulating for Connor to stay while the Assassin continued to walk.

"You wanna tell me about it?" Caleb asked and Ben heard the edge of a challenge in his voice.

"After we're sure the British are retreating and the battle won," he replied as he turned away from Connor and the Marquis and headed back to his horse. Mounting it, he saw Caleb do the same with his. He turned his head to tip his helm at Washington who returned the gesture with one of his own as his Lifeguards resumed their watch around him. Together, he and Caleb headed back to where the rest of the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons were with General Greene. He could not pay Connor anymore attention nor consider the Assassins as his allies. Not after the ambush, and certainly not after what had just happened. Connor had forced him to choose between the Assassins and Washington and he had chosen his side.

He could only hope it was a choice that did not end up with a blade in his heart courtesy of a native Assassin he once would have liked to have called a fellow ally.

~END~


	13. Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot - Part 2

Letters Home: (Treason) Letters from the Present

By: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Directly after the events of Monmouth, Caleb confronts Ben for a long overdue conversation about the past and present events. Takes place right before the scene in Episode 10 where Ben encounters and leads Bradford into an ambush by Caleb.

 **Story:**

* * *

"All right Ben, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?" Ben could feel Caleb's intense gaze on him. He set down the letter that was from Abe's man inside New York named Robert Townsend.

He sighed as he pushed the letter towards the other end of the small table in his tent at Valley Forge. It did not move too far. He supposed he owed his best friend an explanation after what had happened on the ridge leading up to where Washington had been with the cannons forming a second defensive perimeter. The words he and Connor had exchanged had definitively broken whatever small bonds of friendship, of any hope of alliance between the two of them. It had also, in his opinion, severed any remnant bonds with the Brotherhood he had cultivated. It was technically what he always wanted and hoped that his father, when he received the news, would not be disappointed. It still did not stop the disquieting feeling of severance within him.

"I've been patient, I've been quiet, but hearing that, that _savage injun'_ try to kill ya before? Excuse me, no," Caleb said heatedly as he shook his head, "I should have shot him, just like I should have shot Simcoe-"

"No," Ben shook his head as he finally met Caleb's gaze and saw his brow crinkle. It was still odd seeing him without his beard, but he supposed he was growing it back judging by the scruff he had going already. He wasn't feeling charitable enough to correct Caleb on the derogatory term for Connor.

"No?!" Caleb's eyebrows rose, "Ben-"

"Connor would have easily killed you before you could have fired at him," he said. He neglected to mention that there was the occasional unusual green glow that surrounded Connor when he was cutting through the redcoats. It was as if something was repelling rounds and other metal objects away from him. It was only the saving grace of whatever remnants was left of their fledgling friendship that had gotten Connor to back down and leave without incident. Otherwise, Ben did not know what would happen to the ball he fired at point-blank range. Just as well, considering that Connor had drawn his small hidden blade and was also pointing it at his throat.

"Well, just because he went through those bloody-backs like wet parchment-"

"It's exactly that," Ben rubbed his face tiredly, "Connor is a trained Assassin. And I mean one of those Assassins and an assassin itself."

"So?"

"They are trained from a very young age, almost the same time as they can walk," Ben started as he rubbed his eyes and stared at nothing in particular, "in the arts of stealthiness, crawling through trees, paths, to be unassuming amongst all walks of life. That is how they can slip in and out. They are trained to be fast, quick with the blade, and sure with the gun. Some prefer weapons of a certain kind, daggers, tomahawks, some have a better skill with firearms or even with poisons.

"We try to have a normal childhood back then, because the Templars were hunting us. So training had to be in secret, like a game. Some were trained in the basics, but then sent for different types of further education. Connor was trained to be a warrior, and it is probably in more part because of his native roots. He moves with the skill of a predator on a hunt and has lightning reflexes that made him so effective against the Templars these last few years."

"Templars," Caleb's voice was flat and Ben looked up at him to see him staring at him with a look of disbelief on his face, "as in Knights Templar Order back in the Crusades? Are you shitting me?"

"Caleb-"

"And what the hell is this about normal childhoods and games? Are you one of them? One of these...Assassins? Is Connor one of your friends that you randomly meet and then watch him kill a bunch of lobster-backs like they were nothing?!" there was something in his best friend's expression that warred between being frightened, yet excited. Ben's gut twisted painfully. He did not want his friend to find out like this. Caleb was fearless. Caleb was the voice of reason and the stalwart one between the two of them.

"No, I'm not one," he shook his head as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "my father was though..."

The former whaler blinked and sat back, nearly falling over in his chair, "What?! Old Man Reverend Tallmadge was one of those Assassins? Killed like Connor back there?!"

"I...don't know..." he replied, "my father...never really talked much about his work for the Assassin Brotherhood during the Seven Years War and beyond that. But I would presume so, though I guess many of them came from the barrel of his rifle." He had never found any evidence that his father wore a hidden blade like Connor did, but he had seen glints of one on one of Achilles' arms and supposed that it was a way of identifying those who were part of the Brotherhood. His father must have put his away after he had gone into hiding and became a Reverend.

"Holy...Reverend Tallmadge...and you're not?"

"I'm not," he tried to smile faintly at Caleb's question, but did not succeed, "I...knew about my father's Assassin ties, but didn't really know about it until more recently. All I knew was that it took him away from Samuel and I for a long time and I didn't want that...I wanted...well, I hope to have a family someday, after all of this is over. I...don't want my children to feel as abandoned as Samuel and I did growing up." He pressed his lips together as he looked away, unwilling to meet Caleb's sympathetic look.

"Well," Caleb cleared his throat a little bit after a moment of awkward silence, "certainly explains about you and Sammy-boy. How you two were able to get away with certain things like climbing trees and rooftops while the rest of our parents were all up in arms about it."

Ben snorted quietly and nodded. He wondered if he should tell Caleb about Samuel being an Assassin, but decided against it as out of the corner of his eye, he saw him rock back a little, clapping his hands on his legs.

"So, that little showdown back there-"

"I thought about using the Assassin Brotherhood to help Abe and Anna in New York, but it seems Connor's goals of ending General Lee and a fallout with Washington wasn't a means to an end," he shook his head. He dared not tell Caleb about the fact that Connor had insisted that Washington had burned his village a long time ago.

"Ending Lee, huh?" his best friend rubbed his chin, a slight scratching noise filling the tent, "would be pretty handy."

"It would, but I think General Washington has other plans for him," he had not seen any sign of Charles Lee since they had all returned to camp. He did catch a glimpse of William Bradford who looked like he was looking for a drink upon their return. Ben flicked an absent finger at the letter that had both the sympathetic ink and what looked like to be a bill on it. "Bradford's still a threat..."

"Yeah, along with a couple of other names on there. Mentions an assassin, but not a name. Though it might have been Connor, especially with what happened back there, but you're saying he hates Lee?"

"Tipped me off to Lee being a Templar, but this confirms what's more than likely a Templar conspiracy to replace or kill Washington and put their man in charge of the Continentals. Maybe even surrender to the British since Lee's a confirmed traitor," he picked up the paper by its edge and glanced at the quick lines and strokes that denoted Townsend's hand writing.

"Knights Templar..." Caleb's voice sounded a little faint and Ben gave him a wry sideways smile.

"Nothing so special about them except they work in the shadows like the Assassins. The only comparable thing is that they're lending their services to the British," he shrugged, "makes me wonder if their Head of Intelligence, Major John Andre is one of them."

"Sending assassins like the Assassins being assassins is their thing?" Caleb asked.

"I don't know," Ben replied, "but it could be true." The fact that he had been targeted, or rather indirectly targeted, by Templars disguised as Queen's Rangers back in Wethersfield told him that the Templars were not above adopting the Brotherhood's own techniques against them.

"They got a goal?"

"I honestly do not know," he said, "all I know is that Connor confirmed that Charles Lee is a Templar and is a traitor to the Patriots, so maybe the Templars are against American independence."

"And they want Washington dead, if Bradford's name on that list is any indication," Caleb gestured with a couple of fingers to the paper he was holding.

"Bradford could be by association," he cautioned, but even that felt like a lie in his own mind. There was no way that Bradford was not considered a Templar. The man practically followed in Lee's coattails and heels. It was he who had suggested a majority of the battle plan that Washington had approved of according to Billy Lee's words to him.

"Still, gotta catch the bastard," Caleb gave him a toothy smile and Ben looked at him.

"You have a plan," he stated and his best friend nodded.

"I've got a plan, and you're going to love it," he reached over and patted him on his shoulder, "and since I'm such a nice guy and want to thank you for sharing this bit of information, I'm letting you punch him first before I sock him."

Ben laughed, a weight of relief lifting off of him at Caleb's words. He was glad that Caleb took his explanation in stride and did not pry further into the past he had completely segregated himself from. He only hoped that Washington would accept it the same once he talked with him. Because there he did not missed the fact that Washington and Lafayette were staring at him and Connor in their confrontation.

~END~


	14. Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot - Part 3

Letters Home: (Plot) Family Ties

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Alternate scene concerning the plot to assassinate Washington in the closing moments of Episode 10 'Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot." The plot to assassinate Washington takes a far more dangerous turn as traitors and hidden allegiances are revealed.

 **Story:**

* * *

Ben's grip on his cavalry sword was tight as he quickly headed towards Washington's tent behind the farmhouse. He trusted Caleb to properly secure Bradford in the small wooden cabin that had designated to use as a makeshift prison. Ben was glad that the victory gained today on the battlefield had made most of the men oblivious to what was happening inside the camp. They did not need to know of this latest attempt or conspiracy on Washington's life.

The list he had in his pocket would condemn each man to the fate of a traitor and he already had the excuse ready for their eventual hanging. The only thing that worried him was the fact that Townsend had only mentioned that there was an actual assassin lurking in the camp, and it was someone within Washington's inner circle. Ben already had his own ideas on how to expose the assassin, but he needed to be extremely careful. The last time something like this had happened, it had cost Nathaniel Sackett his life. Ben was determined not to let that happen again.

He stopped short before two of Washington's Lifeguards. "I need to speak with the General," he said quietly and urgently. While he was glad that Liam had taken up his posting outside Washington's door with the gravity and seriousness of his title, he hoped that maybe at least their former familiarity with each other would allow him to pass unhindered.

"Sorry, the General is occupied," Ben's face almost fell at the news Liam gave him.

"It's urgent," he was about to say more when the tent flap opened slightly and Billy Lee's face appeared.

"The General wishes to see Major Tallmadge," Billy glanced at the two Lifeguards who nodded and stepped to the side to allow him through.

Ben shot him a quick smile as he entered and let the flap close behind him. He saw Billy stand by Washington's side, his expression oddly flat before Ben noticed that there was another person in the tent besides the three of them. It was an older looking man, perhaps just a few years older than Washington himself, with the most benign expression on his face. But Ben somehow knew that the benign expression was anything but, and the niggling sense he had relied on told him that the man was dangerous. However, Ben could not visually discern anything from the other man that prickled the wariness in him. He glanced over at his Commander-in-Chief to see if he was under duress, but found no sign of it. Only Billy seemed to acknowledge the man with the flattest look possible, so Ben decided to follow Washington's lead. If the Lifeguard had allowed the man to enter the tent and Washington did not seem to mind his presence, then the mystery of the man was not for him to solve.

Still, he took a moment to study the man, wondering if he was going to comment on his arrival. Was the mysterious man a part of the French delegation or even part of the Baron's retinue? Ben did not know, but the man did not seem to align with either foreign force in the army. In fact, he seemed to be a member of the gentry class in colonies, perhaps a merchant or someone who could afford the finer dark fabrics and cut of cloth he wore. There was also something oddly familiar about him, but Ben could not quite place where he could have seen the man's features before.

He saw the other man shift a little, meeting his gaze with a bland look of his own before turning away, seemingly engrossed with looking around the tent. It seemed Washington's visitor would not introduce himself and so Ben decided to pretend to ignore his presence in the tent.

"General," he greeted his Commander instead, a little puzzled as to why Washington was not celebrating his victory with a drink, but rather was pouring over more maps and documents on his war table. "Congratulations on your first victory of the year," he said as Washington flicked a quick look at him before writing something down on a piece of paper. Ben realized that it was a report to Congress on what had happened at Monmouth.

"It was the obvious victory and in the most forgiving sense of the word," Washington murmured, scratching a few more words with his quill. Ben knew that he was referring to both the fact that they had held out against the British lines until the sun had set as well as Connor's handling of the lower cannons to push back against the British lines until the sun had waned enough to blinded the incoming British forces.

Still Ben felt like he needed Washington to at least understand what had transpired, "We turned them, sir, we saw their backs. And that's something that they will not soon forget, and neither would we."

"A symbolic victory then," Washington conceded and Ben knew that it was the best he would get out of his Commander.

Instead, he drew himself up and cleared his throat lightly, "Your Excellency, there is something I need to ask you."

"How long did I know of General Lee's communication with the enemy," Washington's quill stopped scratching across the paper as he stared at nothing in particular. A second later, he met his gaze and a small smile blossomed on the corner of his lips, "Ever since you delivered 355's report."

Ben stared, confused as to why Washington had not acted on the intelligence delivered that early and instead waited for so long. His unspoken question must have shown on his face as Washington acknowledged it with the slight tilt of his head.

"I had to wait for the most opportune time," his General said quietly, "better to be court martialed as a failure than as a traitor."

Echoes of their previous conversations, of what Washington had been trying to tell him without being forthright or overt flashed through Ben's head as he rocked back on his heels. He finally understood how close Washington had been watching Lee, had been monitoring him – and unlike his own fumbling foolish actions, he had tried to steer Lee in a way to show the rest of the army that he was a failing commander, not an outright traitor. Washington had been right – army morale would have surely suffered if Lee had been exposed as a traitor, but morale had been greatly improved when Washington himself had both secured a victory and placed the blame of a ill-conceived retreat at Lee's feet. He had essentially turned the tables on Lee after being disparaged for so long; and had done so quite effectively.

Ben flicked a quick look at the other man in the room, but he showed no outward expression, except now he saw the man's hawkish gaze on them, evaluating almost calculating. The fact that Washington had spoken so plainly told him that the man knew everything that was said at this very moment. Ben briefly wondered if the man was another spy of sorts, perhaps an attaché or someone that Washington had used to gather further intelligence. It was not that he was not jealous, though he did quickly suppress the flare that erupted at his own thoughts. Considering his own efforts to create a new line of intelligence through Connor besides Culper, he wondered if the man was being used in the same manner for Washington.

Ben turned back to his General, "What will happen to General Lee?" He had no doubts that Washington had heard Connor's request regarding Lee, but he still did not know of the relationship between his Commander-in-Chief and the native Assassin. They certainly had met or even had talked during the few months he was not at Valley Forge, but what had been discussed or said had been disclosed to him.

"Congress will present evidence at his trial and he will be stripped of his rank," Washington explained before he finally turned and nodded in the other man's direction, "I have it on this gentleman's authority that Lee will be safely kept away from British influences or their command staff for the duration of this war, however long it may take. Charles Lee's fate is sealed; he will never command any force for the Continentals nor divulge our plans to the British."

Ben turned his head to look at the older man who finally stepped away from his corner and approached them. His arms were hanging loosely by his side, but Ben noted to some degree of alarm that the man _moved_ with the languid grace of a predator. In fact, it looked eerily similar to how he had seen Connor and even Duncan move. Was this man a part of the Assassin Brotherhood? But something else in him told him to be extremely cautious, even more so than when he was around Connor. This man was _very_ dangerous.

"Haytham Kenway, at your service," the older man introduced himself and Ben reluctantly shook hands with him. The fact that he did not introduce himself with any titles or allegiances made him wonder why Washington trusted the man.

"Major Benjamin Tallmadge," he replied, noting the firm grip the other man had. It was surprisingly still strong, even though he could feel the numerous callouses and puckered flesh that was indicative of scarring. The man must have seen a lot of battles and hardship. He let go of the other man's hand, "If I may, sir, it is highly unusual for a civilian to be involved in such matters..."

Kenway chuckled lightly, though Ben caught the hint of a dark edge in that laugh as he nodded in Washington's direction, "Your man is a very sharp one, General. I can see now as to why Charles failed on so many fronts." He turned back, "Is it not so unusual to have someone like Nathaniel Sackett as a civilian consultant? No, I am here per a special request from the General."

"Special request," one of Ben's eyebrows lifted up in speculation.

"It was made long before any of this, when I took over the organization after General Washington's older brother passed away-"

"That's _enough_ , Master Kenway," Washington suddenly spoke up and Ben glanced down to see his Commander-in-Chief with a hard and angry look on his face as he glared up at the other man.

"Really?" Kenway suddenly hissed at Washington and Ben felt his hackles rise, "because I do not _think_ for one minute that Connor gave you your victories and this man here gave you the proper intelligence for you to even _continue_ to be in command! They should have been Charles and now you're trying to protect him?!" Kenway jabbed a finger towards Ben and he nearly flinched, but froze in place as he caught the familiar glint of metal and contraption under the man's arm, covered by layers of clothing. There was a hidden blade there.

Washington suddenly stood up, his eyes filled with fury as he stared at Kenway who had an equally ugly expression on his face. "You have already done enough, Master Kenway. I have asked you here per _your_ request in keeping Charles alive instead of having me hand him over to the young native who so desperately wishes him dead that I am inclined to give him that."

"If only to curry favor broken by your idiocy in your youth by burning his village!" there was something in Kenway's voice that rumbled with a long hurt, as if he was still nursing an old wound.

"I can still easily renege on our agreement, Master Kenway," Washington replied icily, "I can and I still will."

Something flickered in Kenway's expression before a slow smile worked its way up his face. "I wondered, had your brother Lawrence petitioned Grand Master Birch long ago to appoint you as his successor, would things have turned out differently?" he mused, "what a fine Templar you would have made-"

"Get out," Washington suddenly interrupted and pointed to the tent flap, "get out before I have you _thrown_ out. I never wish to see you here again _Grand Master_ Kenway. Take your war with the Assassins elsewhere. These United States of America are not for your ilk or kind to play with."

There was an unkind smile on Kenway's face as he bowed his head once before walking out of the tent. Ben watched him go until the flap closed behind him before he released a breath he did not realize he had been holding. At the same time, he could feel the bones in his hands creak and forcibly relaxed the grip on the hilt of his sword he had almost drawn in the middle of all of that. He turned back and saw his that his Commander-in-Chief was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. At the same time, the words that Kenway had said finally registered and Ben could only stare in return. Washington...had Templar-ties? Was or currently was a Templar? His older brother had been the _Grand Master_?!

Ben's breath stuttered a little as he realized he had literally just shook hands with the _current_ Grand Master of the Templar Order. Whom, if he was not mistaken, was wearing a hidden blade much like the ones those of the Assassin Brotherhood wore. A thousand questions flitted across his mind, but he found that he could give no voice to any as the General stared at him with a measured look.

"Your silence is commendable," Washington finally spoke up, his voice quiet and precise as he slowly sat back down and picked up his quill again.

"I... Sir, I..." Ben started, but still found his words lodged in his throat. He did not know _what_ to say. What could he say? He did not want to tell Washington about his own Assassin connections through his father, that he knew Connor and it was because of that the confrontation on the ridge could have been a lot worst? That his Commander-in-Chief was a Templar? Had the same affiliations and connections as he did to the two groups that had been literally at war with one another for _hundreds_ if not perhaps thousands of years?!

"I was made aware of certain factions that sought to turn this war for independence into a war of ideologies a few years ago," Washington interrupted him quietly as he absently dipped his quill into his ink well several times. "I had long known before that due to my brother's...other dealings, business ones as well as ones that he sought to exclude me from, of the faction that called themselves the Knights Templar."

Ben could only swallow heavily as Washington set his quill down into the ink well and sat back, staring up at him.

"The opportunity was there," his Commander-in-Chief said almost candidly, "but...events and perhaps a healthy dose of politics as always precluded the lack of my involvement with the Templars."

"Sir..."

"Nathaniel Sackett was a member of the Assassin Brotherhood as I recall," Washington suddenly sat forward, staring up at him, "and knew of my affiliation with the Templars. Normally, when such events happen, mortal enemies do not seek out sanctuary from the group determined to hunt them down."

"S-Sackett..." Ben knew from Achilles that Sackett was a part of the Brotherhood, but to hear it from Washington himself, and to learn that Sackett already knew about Washington's ties to the Templars, it shocked him. Sackett had not randomly sought out Washington's help, nor did Washington seek out Sackett's. It must have been part of a mutually beneficial agreement between the two of them. It certainly explained why Sackett had been there the first time he had met General Washington and why his General had insisted on Sackett's input into the formation of their spy network.

"After your words to me regarding the trust of keeping secrets from everyone when we first met, I inquired deeper into your family and background, Major," Washington explained, his gaze steady, "because it is always a curiosity to see what has excited Mr. Sackett so that was about you."

"Y-You-"

"My initial inquiry was supplemented by the arrival of a young native to whom I had previously witnessed save my life from what was surely the gun of an assassin at Bridewell Prison," Washington continued, cutting easily into his faint words as if he had never spoken them at all.

"Connor..." Ben breathed out and Washington nodded. "Sir, I-I do not have any official affiliation with the Brotherhood- My father was part of them, but I do not-"

"You need not defend yourself to me, Benjamin," Washington smiled faintly at him, "I merely wished to clear the air between us. And I will confess freely that I wished for your presence to here to prove to the current Grand Master of the Templars that their war with the Assassins is for naught as proof of our collaboration."

"...Oh..." Ben blinked.

He did not know what to say after that. It certainly made for ironic sense that two people with family ties between the two long warring factions were able to work together in mostly harmonic fashion for a common cause. Part of what Washington had said earlier registered with him as he wet his lips, "Sir, you wish me to convey the information regarding General Lee to Connor?"

"If he requests it," there was a faint twinkle of approval in Washington's eyes and Ben felt warmed by it. Though he did not voice it, he wondered if allowing him to convey the fact that Master Kenway was to preside over Lee's imprisonment was his Commander-in-Chief's subtle way of telling the Templars to go away. It would seem so judging by how Washington had all but ordered Kenway out of his tent. The message could not be clearer than that – Washington wanted nothing to do with the Templars or Assassins in this War for Independence; and telling the two chief instigators, Kenway and Connor, was sure enough of a message.

And Ben found himself wholeheartedly approving of such a message. It was better to have a clearer sense of the enemy than to have one who might have been on the Patriots side, but was associated with the Templars and by default, the British – like Charles Lee. The only problem left now was to root out the rest of those who might be Templars, but were definitely associated with Lee. Ben mentally squared his shoulders and took the metaphoric step forward, much surer of the intelligence Caleb had given to him from Abe.

"Sir," he started as he produced the small folded paper that was written by Robert Townsend, "it is with the interest of renewed trust that I present this piece of intelligence that I received from Culper's contact in New York. His name is Robert Townsend and we've already named him Culper Jr." He handed over the folded piece of paper to Washington's great interest as he stood up and took it.

"It speaks of a plot against your life, sir," Ben continued before looking at Billy as Washington hastily opened the note and started to read, "Billy, if you could call in the Lifeguard and his aide-de-camps?"

He saw Billy flick a look at Washington who absently nodded before the manservant went to call in the Lifeguards and Washington's aide-de-camps. They were the only ones that Ben knew were intrinsically part of his inner circle. He did not know which one was the assassin, but he was determined to root the man out. He knew that Washington had other advisers, but they were his war advisers, not ones who handled his correspondences, helped him with the day-to-day running of an army nor protected him with their life. One of them was a traitor and assassin and Ben would be damned if they ended up succeeding in their mission to kill Washington.

As Washington continued to read the missive, Ben saw Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens step into the tent, both a little rosy in the cheeks, having been celebrating the victory. A few seconds later the Marquis de Lafayette wandered in, a little more red in the cheeks, but eyes bright with awareness. Washington's Lifeguards, McPhearson and Liam stepped in after the Marquis followed by Billy who nodded to him as he resumed his position behind Washington. As much as it pained Ben, he did not discount Billy's possible involvement in the plot against Washington's life. However, he also reasoned that if it was Billy who was the assassin, then he would have already struck in the numerous times since the plot had been hatched.

After all of his missteps in the past few months, he was determined to prove to Washington that he was a competent of an intelligence officer that his Commander-in-Chief thought he was.

"I brought you all here tonight because of a plot against the Commander's life," he started quietly, staring at each man's face, keeping his own decidedly neutral. "Now we've captured one of the instigators and are holding him-"

"Who?!" Washington demanded, looking up from the missive.

"It's Lee's man, William Bradford," he said, his eyes flicking quickly to the others to gauge their reaction before turning back to Washington.

"Where are you holding him?" Ben held up a hand and shook his head to stop his General from taking more than few steps forward.

"Sir, for your own safety, I can't allow you to leave your tent," he said before gesturing to the others assembled, "I was hoping for one of your more trusted men to quietly fetch Bradford here so we can question him-"

"I'll go," Ben managed to keep himself from flinching or freezing at the sound of Liam's voice volunteering for the duty.

It couldn't be Liam...it just couldn't be. He only managed to just nod at the younger man's eagerness. At the same time, he saw Washington also nod his assent before Liam left the tent. Ben felt shaken, that it was _Liam_ of all people who was the assassin. What had happened? How did the young man whom he remembered occasionally teaching lessons to in Wethersfield become part of this cabal? This madness? Ben knew that his plan was not entirely foolproof – there was a chance that Liam was lying and that the real traitor was still in the tent, so Ben kept silent as Washington went back to reading the missive.

He looked at the others, wondering if one of them was the true traitor and not Liam. McPhearson had not been part of the 2nd Light, but had been part of Washington's old guard from the troops he commanded in Boston. He did not know John Laurens very well, but Alexander Hamilton was known to him. The man certainly knew about Connor as did the Marquis de Lafayette. Ben mentally filed the Marquis as the person least likely to betray Washington, considering his friendship with Connor and helpfulness. Plus, France was an ally of them – the Marquis would not do anything to jeopardize it, not after everything they had gone through.

That left Billy Lee. But as Ben pretended to stare around the tent while studying Billy, he could find no fault with the negro. Billy had also been there and he specifically remembered Billy saying that Connor had sought him out to speak to Washington. There was a chance that it was coincidence, after all, Billy was easily accessible in terms of getting an audience with Washington. But in light of Kenway's departure just a little over a half-hour ago, it seemed that Billy seemed more relaxed in Washington's presence instead of having a flat pinched look on his face.

His current mental list had Laurens and McPhearson on the top, if only because he did not know either men that well. He considered outright questioning them right then and there, but before he could do anything, there was the rustling of the tent flap and Caleb walked in. He caught his best friend's gaze and saw him nod once. All thoughts of Liam _not_ being the traitor fled from Ben's mind.

Liam _was_ the traitor.

"Sir," Caleb greeted Washington and nodded to the others before addressing Ben, "he's secure."

Ben pressed his lips together in despair and anger as he nodded tightly.

At the same time, he saw Washington nod to the others gathered around, "Make sure."

McPhearson, Billy, Laurens, and Hamilton all left, leaving the Marquis who paused by the tent flap, peering out to watch his colleagues leave. "Marquis?" Ben asked and the Frenchman turned back to look at them.

"Connor spoke of a plot against you before he left the battlefield. It is partially why I ordered a retreat of my forces from the lower ridge; to ensure your safety after Lee's failure in commanding. The Major's actions only confirmed that there are assassins in this camp. If it would please you, Your Excellency, I would stand guard as your other men ensure that the assassin is secured along with Colonel Bradford," the Marquis had a steady look on his youthful face that belied his usual bright and cheerful demeanor.

"Thank you," Washington said gratefully before turning to the two of them, "so, Corporal Liam Griffith."

"It would seem so," Ben replied quietly, "now Liam and Bradford can be brought up on other charges, like forgery, and both can hang without anyone knowing better." He saw Washington nod his assent at his thoroughness. However, he almost could not speak his next words, but forced himself to, "I apologize, sir, for allowing him to become part of your Lifeguard. It is my own failure to recognize the treachery within my own command-"

"Thank you," Washington interrupted him with a kind smile, "Benjamin."

"Uh, y-you're welcome, Your Excellency," Ben was taken aback at his words before gesturing to Caleb, "actually, it was Townsend and Caleb's doing-"

"And Woody, er, Woodhull, sir," Caleb corrected him.

Washington merely nodded with the same warm expression that seemingly suffused a bright spot within him, "So, Sir 721, do you trust the integrity of the Culper Ring?"

Ben could hear the undercurrent of ' _Do you trust me even though I have ties with the Templars to your ties with the Assassin's?_ ' and understood what Washington was asking of him. Did the trust between the two of them, having been so thoroughly tested in the past few months, still resided in each other? Did the secrets exposed plunge them into the traditional antagonistic roles that they both apparently tried so hard to pull away from? To not let such roles as Templar or Assassin define them even though neither one of them were ever initiated or inducted into their respective Orders?

"With my life," Ben answered honestly, "and with yours." He made sure that Washington could see that with what had happened did not affect his commitment to both the Culper Ring and being Washington's Head of Intelligence. He would always be ready to do his duty for his Commander-in-Chief, Templar-ties or not. He believed in him and was glad to see that his faith had been rewarded with such quiet praise and trust. Washington believed in him and Ben finally understood the lesson he had been taught regarding Charles Lee. It was better this way, to ensure that there was no division within the ranks of the Continentals, as well as ensuring that the Templars and Assassins' on-going war did not embroil America's fight for independence. Though the damage had been done, the fact that they had removed a significant component in the Templar's schemes to affect this war, Ben was confident that neither the Templars nor Assassins would gain the upper-hand and thus take their war with each other elsewhere.

He knew that the Culper Ring and his work in ferreting out intelligence for his Commander-in-Chief would always have the potential of being influenced by the shadowy powers behind the war for independence, but it was a risk he was willing to take. And judging by the pleased expression on Washington's face, he too, was willing to take that risk.

"Then we are in agreement, Major," Washington replied and looked to say more except for the sudden frown that appeared on his face. He looked beyond him and Ben and Caleb both turned to see the Marquis step out before suddenly stepping in and holding the tent flap open.

Ben could not help the small gasp of surprise that escaped his lips at the sight of Billy entering, blood covering parts of his jacket and arms. But what was truly surprising was the fact that on one of Billy's arms, covered in a small amount of blood was a hidden blade that had not been sheathed. Billy wore a hidden blade...

"Sir," the negro looked out of breath, "he's escaped. Had help. Was ambushed- Mr. Laurens was rushed to the house by Hamilton and McPhearson. He's calling for a surgeon-"

"Which way?!"

"Bradford?!" Washington demanded the same time as he did.

"Unharmed. Corporal Griffith ran towards the stables-" Billy started, but Ben pushed past him and ran towards the stables nearest to where he and Caleb had kept Bradford as a prisoner. "Major!" he heard Billy and the Marquis call out as he skidded to a stop, Caleb nearly colliding behind him.

Ben watched as two horses galloped out of the stables bearing their riders with all haste. He thought he caught the glimpse of Liam's face amongst the two, but the other rider had a neckerchief covering half of his face, as if he did not want to be identified.

"Liam! Stop!" he shouted as they rode past, startling a few revelers who were stumbling around half-drunk. Ben realized that there was no way Liam nor his mysterious rescuer were going to stop. They were deserting, if not outright escaping. "Liam!"

"Ben, come on! We can still get the horses and catch them-"

"Give me your musket," Ben ignored Caleb's pleas and grabbed the nearest musket on the Continental that had been wandering by, puzzled as to what was going on.

"S-Sir!" the soldier was startled as Ben roughly pulled the musket from his hands, pulling the flintlock back as he sighted down the barrel.

"Ben that's over one-hundred yards-"

Ben ignored whatever Caleb was about to say as he focused everything he had down the barrel of his borrowed musket. All of the lessons he had learned when he had been younger, the feeling he knew helped saved his life time after time, all of it focused on the very moment of just _willing_ the ball to hit Liam at least. To stop him from escaping with his knowledge and make a second attempt on his General's life. The distance was great, far greater than he knew what the musket was capable of, but Ben knew that there was no other choice. With a rifle, he knew he could accurately make the shot; with this musket, his accuracy was greatly reduced. He took a deep breath and _focused_.

And fired.

Ben silently cursed as his shot _missed_ and hit the other rider instead, toppling him from his horse. Liam continued on with only a quick and anguished look behind before pushing his horse go faster. They disappeared around a bend as the guards on duty rushed to where the fallen rider was lying on the ground. The man's horse had skidded to a stop and Ben saw one of the guards run up and hold the beast by its bridle.

"Jesus, Benny-boy..." Caleb breathed out and Ben caught the hint of awe in his voice, but ignored it. He shoved the borrowed musket back into the soldier's hands and started to walk to where the rider had fallen.

"Hold that man!" he shouted to the guards that were crowding around the fallen rider as he approached. He could see a few of them flip the rider over, muskets and pistols pointed downwards. A few looked up at his approach and parted to allow him through. Ben immediately saw that his shot had been a mortal wound, the dark spot on the pristine white of the man's uniform front growing on his chest.

To his dismay, he saw that the man was wearing the colors of a dragoon, blue and gold. Whomever had helped Liam had been more than likely one of his own men. Ben heard the man give a wet cough and reached down to rip away the neckerchief that had covered half of his face. Ben's heart fell again at the sight of Alexander Mayfield with blood splattered across his chin as he coughed again. He should have known...

He pressed his lips together and knelt down next to Mayfield as he heard Caleb whisper an oath above him at the sight. "Why?" he asked the dying man, "Why did you do it? Why you...why Liam?"

Alexander smiled, his teeth stained with blood, "You wouldn't...understand...sir..."

"Help me understand," he pleaded with the younger man, "...please."

Mayfield coughed, his breath coming in quick and fast, "Bradford...wanted you dead...sir. Wethersfield. Thought...you...a threat...to Lee...and the Templars..." He took a shuddering breath before just as suddenly, his body stilled. A bubble of blood popped from his half-opened mouth, the taken breath leaving him just as quickly, as his eyes stared lifelessly up at the night sky.

Ben stood up on heavy legs as he stared at Alexander's body, unable to turn away from it. He still did not know what had made Liam and Alexander join the Templars - or perhaps they had been part of the Templars all along. He had taught them Wethersfield, had watched them grow into fine young men. But what the younger man had revealed opened up a deep sense of disquiet within him.

His father had been wrong. The Templars dressed as Queen's Rangers that day in Wethersfield had not been targeting his father or Achilles, but rather had been targeting him all along. It seemed that none of them knew of his Assassin ties, but had targeted him like any other civilian. The thought did not bring any comfort to him, nor did it make him feel any more relieved to find out what had really happened in Wethersfield. It certainly made more sense – Liam had been the look-out and Alexander was more than likely the one who had knocked out Duncan in the burning building. Then the two had been tasked by Welles and Ames to hold John Davenport's family hostage while he was to be taken out. Except he had not known that key information when he had rushed to the tavern and found the two there.

Alexander's last confession had certainly proven that Bradford had Templar ties and it was further proof that the Templars wanted to control the war. It had also proven that they would do anything in their power to eliminate those that opposed them, allies or not. It was a small comfort to him to know that the Assassins lived by a creed of sorts and that one of the tenets in the creed was to stay the blade from the flesh of an innocent. The Templars had no such creed and did anything and everything in their power to control what they wished to control.

His only saving grace was that Liam would more than likely never show his face in the Continentals ever again. And here his accomplice in his escape laid dead at his feet. Ben turned, unwilling to even consider the potential that there were others in the 2nd Light that were Templars or had ties to the order. He could not fall into that paranoia that his father had warned him about, could not allow himself to suspect and jump at every shadow. He needed to be in control, be an effective Head of Intelligence because he had _just_ regained the trust of his General and he would be damned if he lost it because he suspected everyone and everything.

He brushed past Caleb, refusing to meet his eyes. He did not want to know what his friend thought about the fact that he had been a target. He started to head towards Washington's tent, but stopped as he saw the Marquis wave at him from the front of the farmhouse. Washington must have entered already, more than likely checking on John Laurens' condition.

"Sir," he greeted the Marquis who patted him gently on the arm.

"A fine shot, Major," the Marquis said quietly, "'twas a pity you did not have two available. The General is inside and is awaiting your report. I am pleased to say that Mr. Laurens will recover."

"That's good to hear," Ben felt a little more cheered at the news as he entered, Caleb and the Marquis following behind him. He saw that Sergeant McPhearson had taken his post outside the door that Washington normally used as his office and nodded a greeting to the Lifeguard who nodded back. Blood was still splattered across parts of the man's uniform, but he looked unharmed.

Ben entered and saw Washington standing near the fireplace, staring at the small flames as if it held the secrets of the world. In the corner of the room was Billy who had his hands clasped behind him.

"Sir," Ben said as Washington looked up and gestured for the others to come in. He stepped to the side as Caleb and the Marquis also entered, the door closing behind them.

"Sir," Caleb echoed quietly.

"Corporal Griffith escaped sir," Ben reported, "but his accomplice, Private Alexander Mayfield was captured. Unfortunately he succumbed to his wounds."

"Did he say anything before he passed?" Washington asked and Ben nodded.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. When he had initially wrote his report to Washington regarding troop readiness in Boston, he had not included anything of what had happened in Wethersfield except for a brief mention of Davenport and Henry dying but with no details. It would have only been recorded on troop records to ensure that the men had not deserted and their widows and families had the accordance of pay for their services to the cause.

"It seems that both Alexander and Liam were part of the Templars under Colonel Bradford. They were part of a plot to stage an ambush and eliminate those they thought were either a hindrance to their plans or would weaken your position in the eyes of the Continentals." It was not exactly the truth, but Ben would be damned if he actually outright told Washington, of all people, that it was _he_ who had been targeted. His commander did not need to know as Ben considered himself only a deliverer of messages from Abe. Abe was the far more important one. His position could be easily replaced if he was killed – Caleb would be a good choice as his replacement. Washington had even threatened that he recommend a new Head of Intelligence when he had stumbled the few weeks before Sackett had been killed.

Silence reigned in the room save the crackle and pop of the small fire in the fireplace. It made the already stifling room a little hotter, but Ben kept his gaze steady on his Commander-in-Chief.

"Leave us," Washington suddenly said as he looked at Ben, his unspoken command for him to stay, making him suddenly nervous. Ben heard the door open and several people making their way out, including Billy who closed the door behind him.

Silence filled the room once more and seemed to drag on for eternity before Washington finally spoke. "You were the target, were you not?" his General asked with an unreadable look on his face.

Ben hesitated for a second before nodding, "Yes."

"When?"

"On our way back from Boston, sir. Wethersfield. John Davenport and Henry Adamson died in the effort to stop two assassins who were dressed in Queen's Rangers colors. Liam and Alexander must have given them our route home," Ben replied, "sir, I can see that those under my command are not to be trusted and therefore my word cannot be trusted-"

"Who said anything about that?" Washington interrupted him with a dark look before sitting down at his table. "Your trust is what I value the most. You initially think to come to me with the whispers of those in camp and treason spoken behind my back. Now you think to hide the fact that _you_ , of all people are also a target will benefit me?!"

"Sir-"

"The Culper Ring can only succeed if it is a secret. That secret can only be shared by those whom trust is of the highest order," Washington looked up at him as he folded his hands together and set them in front of him, "it would be poor form to share the secret with someone else at this juncture."

Ben blinked as he processed his General's words and suddenly felt a wash of embarrassment fill him. His General thought _that_ highly of him? Of the Culper Ring and of his skills? Even since he had been sent to Boston or even before then? His General trusted him that much since he had received intelligence from Abigail in Philadelphia, but had worried for him? "...Sir..." he did not know what to say.

"I will have Billy discreetly train you on the basics he learned from Mr. Sackett to supplement your rifling skills," Washington said quietly and Ben stared.

"Billy-"

"Was Mr. Sackett's apprentice. Mr. Sackett was a member of the Assassin Brotherhood and had come to me for shelter when the Templars were hunting down members of their order. He understood my connections and still had the courage to ask me for sanctuary."

"Oh," Ben did not know what else to say to that. It made more sense now that he had all of the puzzle pieces in front of him. Like he could suddenly see the board in a wicked game of draughts and could easily see how to win at it.

"Please call Billy and the Marquis back in, if you will. There is much to discuss from today's events and the battle fought," Washington lifted a hand in a clear dismissal and Ben bowed his head slightly as he turned and headed to the door.

Just as he opened it, he heard Washington speak up, pride evident in his voice, "And I might add, Benjamin, an excellent shot. You do your father much credit to the skills you have learned."

Ben smiled as he glanced back and acknowledged the praise with the tilt of his head. "Thank you, sir."

~END~

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

As of the date of this posting: this series is unoffically on hiatus until Season 3 comes out for "TURN: Washington's Spies." I'll resume writing in this series when that happens since I'm anticipating Benedict Arnold's treachery to mash it together with AC3's Benedict Arnold DLC missions.


	15. The Measure of a Man

Letters Home: The Measure of a Man

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Set during Episode 2 of Season 3 of TURN. An extended conversation between Washington and Ben regarding his plan to kill Reverend Worthington and making it look like an accident. Ben thinks he's ready to do the duties of his heritage for Washington – Washington has his doubts, not of his Head of Intelligence, but of what it truly means – a Templar asking an Assassin to kill for him.

 **Story:**

* * *

"Major, please stay for a moment," Washington's quiet tone stopped Ben from leaving his Commander-in-Chief's tent as Caleb left. He saw his friend turn back, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. Ben nodded his assent before pulling the flap close. He turned and took a couple of steps back and gave Washington his full attention.

"Billy tells me you've learned quickly," Washington absently picked up a piece of paper and glanced at it before putting it on another small pile. He made a tiny movement with one of the totems on the large map on his table.

"I fear not as well as he is with the blade, sir," Ben smiled in a bracing manner, resisting the urge to rock back on his heels like he was still in school. It had been years since he had left Yale, but he still felt a little shy about expressing his competency of his latent Assassin-trained skills to Washington. Even though both of them knew each other's backgrounds and trusted each other with the information given of their own free will, Ben still felt like Washington was his teacher of sorts – especially in light of his failings with the Assassin Brotherhood's signature weapon – the hidden blade.

Washington made a small noise that could have passed for a half-laugh before his expression sobered as he stared at his map, "Benjamin, tell me the reason why you really think the Reverend should die."

"Sir?" Ben was confused.

"It truly is for Culper's protection and for the safety of the ring, but do you understand what you had suggested?" his Commander-in-Chief stared at him with sharp eyes.

Ben was a little confused as to what Washington was asking, but replayed what had just been said before he realized what he meant and saw the sharpness in the other man's eyes turn into something a little softer as the realization played across his face. He opened his mouth and closed it, pursing his lips as he thought about what had happened these last few weeks. It was a little easier for Ben now to grasp onto what his Commander meant since a lot of the secrets and heritages surrounding them had been acknowledged and brushed away with no hints of animosity. But Ben realized that Washington saw a lot of it differently, far from the black and white he had, in his own mind, divided the line between the Assassins and Templars to be. To his Commander-in-Chief, he had been raised as the _brother_ to the Grand Master, had been devoted to him as far as stories and rumors had been passed on, but had never been formally inducted into the Templar Order.

Grand Master Kenway's words had initially indicated that Washington had been excluded from the recent Templar dealings and had no knowledge of it – yet the fact that Washington had knowledge about Kenway's actions and also knew of Connor, a fellow Assassin, spoke differently. Ben realized that his Commander-in-Chief still felt his ties to the Templar Order even though he was never really one of them. And this was the source of worry that made Washington question his recent proposal in such a sharp light. Because he, Benjamin Tallmadge, was certainly trained in some of the ways of the Assassin Brotherhood, and was Washington's Head of Intelligence, it also meant that he was Washington's soldier to command. A fine tune blade to strike at his enemies – a hidden blade if you will.

And it meant a Templar controlling an Assassin if one looked at it from a grand scheme of things – even though neither one of them was formally inducted into their respective orders. There was still that history, that supposed animosity – and with that knowledge, Ben realized that Washington was worried. Not of public perception or what would happen if the Orders controlling the war were to find out – but rather what he personally thought about what had been spoken about.

Washington wanted his own reaffirmation of what had been spoken about weeks ago in the aftermath of the Battle of Monmouth.

"The Reverend can't be allowed to continue to compromise our troops or give intelligence to the enemy, the British, sir," Ben stood firm and picked his words carefully. He needed to remind Washington that the enemy was the British, not the hidden war that had been manipulated by Kenway or by Connor. "Killing Worthington is the only way to assure our safety and that of the Culper Ring."

It seemed his words had the right effect on Washington as his Commander-in-Chief nodded slowly. "If I may add, Benjamin, Lieutenant Brewster's words do have some merit. If you can find out who Worthington's contact is, it would be a boon, but not a priority."

"Sir," he nodded before sketching a short salute and took his leave. There was a sort of nervous giddiness in him that warred with the grim understanding of what he tasked himself to do. It would be his first official assassination ever – not a soldier's kill on the battlefield, nor an accidental one in training, but rather he knew that a certain person at a certain time had to die. And it all had to look like an accident.

As Ben headed to his own tent, he started to form a plan in his mind, drawing upon the years of training and knowledge he had accumulated with his father's hidden teachings as well as how he knew the Assassins operated. First, was a plan of action, watch and observe his target for patterns and habits. Then he would use it to his advantage when ambushing Worthington on the road. He had already decided that a hidden blade would be too obvious and would not convey the sense of an accident. No, this would require his sharpshooting skills. A highwayman, bandit, robbery.

It would be an accident; a kill, an assassination; and it would never be for the Templars or Assassins – it would be for Washington, for the Culper Ring.

~END~


	16. Assassins - Part 1

Letters Home: Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Spanning Episode 3 and 4 of Season 3 of TURN – the AC twist on things from Ben's POV and also a slight fix-it fic for Ben's idiocy and stupidity for breaking cover just because Sarah Livingston asked him. Come on Ben, you're smarter than this!

 **Story:**

* * *

 _Part 1_

The plan went, in Caleb's whaling words, pear-shaped the moment he had let his anger fuel his indignant rage at hearing Reverend Worthington speak his damning words. He had not realized the extent of how much intelligence the Reverend had been feeding to Andre from confessions and the like until he had heard him give the precise location of Washington's camp moving to nearby Middlebrook. He had not known how much his rage could fuel his inherent desire to see the man dead until he had pulled the trigger to Worthington's taunt about Washington being a fool. They had both stared mutely at his futile attempts to stem the blood flowing from his fatal shot before the Reverend had fallen to the ground, dead with the last rattle of his traitorous breath.

And that was when Ben realized the folly of his mistake.

 _Make it look like an accident_ , Washington had cautioned when they had initially discussed the plan and Ben had spent some time planning it before stalking the Reverend out of the camp the next day. His plan had initially been to let the Reverend go to the drop point to leave his missive and he would ambush him there, shooting him in the back

to pretend that brigands had gotten the drop on him. There was the option to shoot him from the front, but Ben had discarded it. He had only considered it again as he realized how far off the path they had gone and the lack of leaf and tree cover would not allow him to approach the Reverend from behind.

And so he had confronted the Reverend, but he had not meant to get that close until he wanted to hear what the Reverend had gotten from his latest confessions. It had been damning and it had filled him with rage. They were from the commanders who knew where they were going next to settle camp.

Ben grimaced, holstering his pistol as he stared at Worthington's body. There was still a way to salvage it as he glanced around him. He could smell the distant body of water, more than likely a river of sorts. Worthington could be buried in there and no one would be any wiser. The only issue was the blood on the leaves on the ground, but Ben could easily hide that once he disposed of the body. He took a few steps closer and knelt down next to the man's body.

"May God find you forgiveness in heaven for your deeds," he murmured quietly as he reached out and drew the man's eyes closed. He vaguely remembered his father mentioning to pay due to the dead when they killed, but also remembered that his father had said that he rarely did it only because of his sharpshooting skills. It was only Assassins who killed up close and personal with their blades or with a musket ball that prayed or said words to the dead and treated them with respect. Ben could only wish that he had heeded his father's words and killed the Reverend from afar, but what was done was done.

Pushing himself up from the ground, he gathered the Reverend's body with his own and started to drag him towards the body of water he knew was nearby.

* * *

Ben was beginning to realize why Assassins left their bodies in the open, or at least immediately disappeared when a kill was publicly executed. Dragging Reverend Worthington's body towards the water was hard work. It also did not help that the Reverend was a lot heftier than he first appeared and that compounded Ben's efforts to quickly dispose of the body. It was hardly his first kill, but as Ben maneuvered the body towards the water, he realized that it was his first _assassination_. He supposed that as far as first assassinations went, it was not that bad. If he had killed Worthington on the road instead of at his drop point, it would have been much easier for him to just leave the body like it had been ambushed by brigands. He would have to re-think his plan next time something like this happened.

He was only lucky that there was a body of water to dispose the Reverend's body near, otherwise, he knew his task would have been much harder. As he flipped and pushed the Reverend's body away from him, he absently put his hand in his pocket where he kept the Reverend's cross. It would be proof to Washington that he had killed him and also, Ben could feel his father's words weighing down on him. It was not the words of an Assassin, but rather his father's words as a fellow man of the cloth. He knew he would have to write his father to absolve himself of the slight guilt he had for this deed, and probably ask him how he coped with it all these years. The irony of the situation was not lost on Ben as he realized why his father had become rather distant with him and Samuel when they had been growing up. If this is what it meant to be an Assassin...Ben shuddered a little.

"That's no way to treat a man of God, Tallmadge."

Ben whirled halfway in the water and froze as he came face to face with the very man who had killed Sackett, and was now pointing a pistol at him. He felt his insides grow cold at the ruthless smile on the man's face and cursed inwardly at his inattention for his surroundings. It had been one of the first lessons he had been taught! And he had been caught woolgathering like a school boy when he should have known better. He shot a look at his pistol, lying aimlessly on the banks and cursed himself for not even having a throwing knife about him.

"No need to move, you're fine there," Gamble gave him a thin smile and Ben raised his hands up, trying to think of any way he could get to his pistol or something in his surroundings to throw at the man before he could shoot him. He could not see any small pebble or feel any from the cold waters and muck that his feet had sunk into.

"Gamble," he stated quietly as he saw the man's sinister smile grow a little wider.

"So you do know my name," the assassin nodded, "spares me the introduction. Tell me Major, what did your lot do with that fool, Shanks? Hang 'im? Enlist him?"

"You're the Reverend's contact," Ben ignored his question about Shanks as he realized that Gamble must have picked up on the trail of blood left at the drop site, "so he was working for Andre..."

"We were supposed to meet today actually," Gamble sounded as amicable as the day he had walked into the camp, a snake in the long fields of grass, "looks like you spared me that introduction as well."

Ben could not help the wash of fear that pulsed through him at how _calm_ Gamble sounded, as if he was just talking about the weather or was even not looking forward to have met Worthington. He swallowed, his throat dry as the assassin raised his pistol up and gestured towards him.

"Move to shore," Gamble ordered and Ben hesitated.

"Move," the assassin ordered again and Ben reluctantly complied, digging his feet out of the slit that had sucked his legs towards the marshy ground and moved towards the shore. He hoped that Gamble would let him move closer to his weapons- That thought was immediately broken as he saw the other man move from his high ground towards him at the same time. His options were quickly becoming very limited and he knew time was running out. If only he had not been so lost in his thoughts – the whole mission was a failure at this point, having been detected by the enemy when he had been disposing of a body. He was such an _idiot_!

"That's close enough," Gamble said and Ben stopped, feeling the chilling dampness of his water-soaked breeches and stockings, his mind wondering if it would be just as cold soon when the bullet entered his heart or his head. "Turn around."

Ben dry swallowed again, as he slowly turned.

"Kneel down."

Gamble's words sounded like they were coming from a long tunnel as he grimaced and forced himself to kneel. Ben could feel himself shaking from the cold and from the fear that had gripped him. If only he had gone with his first plan, if only he had not shot Worthington out of anger for his slight against Washington. It felt like what had happened in Wethersfield, but a hundred times worse. This was the very man that had slit Sackett's throat and Ben wanted nothing more than to disarm him, and kill him, but he could not. He had been caught so flat-footed, so off guard that it was _humiliating_ and it ate at him.

 _If this is to be my last act on this good green Earth, then at least it was for the good of the Continental Army and for Washington's sake_ , he thought as he stared out at the banks of the river. _I am so sorry father, I have failed your teachings. I go now to meet Samuel in Heaven._ "I," he started, feeling his voice shake in fear, "am an officer in the Continental Army. Protocol dictates-"

Ben suddenly felt the flash of pain before blackness claimed him.


	17. Assassins - Part 2

Letters Home: Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Part 2_

She had introduced herself as Sarah Livingston and he had vaguely remembered introducing himself as Reverend Benjamin Brewster, spinning a story about an ambush by brigands before exhaustion tugged at Ben and he passed out again. When Ben next awoke, it was to something that smelled wonderful and the rumble of his stomach told him that it was more than likely a couple of days since he had eaten. He could feel the press of a cross in his hand before everything came back to him – Sarah, his story as Reverend Brewster. He blinked open his eyes, feeling the rough scratch of exhaustion in them, and gingerly moved, wincing at the lancing pain across his stomach.

"Smells good," he murmured as he looked up to see Sarah pouring the winter's stew into a bowl before parceling out the helpings.

"Are you strong enough to eat?" she asked as she finished her task.

Ben gingerly nodded, still feeling dizzied and light-headed from the blood loss and tried to push himself further up, breathing out quietly at the movement. He closed his eyes for a second, centering himself before opening them and dragging the blankets off of himself just as Sarah came over and helped him up. Ben nearly staggered to the ground at the sudden weakness of his knees along with the fact that the room seem to spin at a terrible rate. It threatened to overwhelm him, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to put one foot forward until he all but collapsed into the table's chair.

"My apologies, Mrs. Livingston," he grimaced at the fact that she had nearly bore his full weight.

"Tis all right," she seemed unruffled by the fact that he had nearly manhandled her and he blinked, puzzled. She seemed uncommonly unconcerned for someone who was married.

"Are you sure your husband won't mind me borrowing his clothes?" he asked, the fabric on his skin feeling cleaner than he was used to. He hoped that these were not Mr. Livingston's best clothes.

"He won't," Sarah replied, her tone a little sharp and Ben blinked, wondering if he had said something wrong.

"I...I apologize if I had said something to offend you-"

"No," the woman looked at him as she put some of the winter's stew onto her own plate, "you have not."

Ben chewed his lower lip for a second before reaching out with his hand in an offer of prayer. He saw her look at his hand for a second before slowly reaching out with her own and he clasped it, mildly surprised at how firm and calloused her fingers were. He did not remember if she had cattle or even farm animals around her property, his mind too muddled from that night he had succumbed to his wound, but he knew what a woman's fingers felt like when they were covered in the callouses of churning butter or doing farm work. Her callouses felt like she had been holding a musket or even a knife instead.

Ben pushed the thought aside as he recited a simple prayer that he had heard his own father speak of so many times, adding in his own health and quick recovery before thanking Sarah for her food and finished the prayer with a quiet 'Amen.' She followed suit and Ben let her fingers go, drawing his hand back as he tentatively picked up a fork and started to eat.

The food tasted wonderful in Ben's mouth and it was only the fact that he was eating in front of a lady that he did not shove all of it down his throat at that very moment. He managed to take sips of the wine that Sarah had poured for him, quenching his parched throat, but also knew that he had to eat slowly even though his body was starving for food. He vaguely remembered Samuel getting injured when they had been children and the physician cautioning not to eat quickly while a body was in recovery.

"Thank you," he forced himself to stop eating to let his body accept the food and looked up to see a surprised expression on Sarah's face, "for returning the cross to me. It is...of sentimental value."

Sarah only nodded as she looked down at her plate. He could clearly see that she was warring with something and Ben had a feeling that she was hiding something. What it was, he did not know; but he did know that he was currently as weak as a newborn kitten.

"I...must say..." he began again, "I do not know where I am. When I escaped, I rode as far as I could before I fell off my horse-"

"Franklin," she quickly replied flicking a look at him before staring back down at her plate, "this is Frankling township."

"New Jersey..." he breathed out quietly before biting his lip as he considered his options. Franklin was still close to Fairfield where he had ambushed Worthington which meant that he was still in danger. There was no doubt that Gamble was looking for him and every second he was here put Sarah and himself in danger. He licked his lips and forced himself to take another bite, considering his options. He needed bedrest, maybe a day or two, but he also did not know how fast and how wide Gamble was searching for him. He supposed he was lucky that it was raining and some of his horse's tracks were washed away.

Ben opened his mouth again, but before he could even speak a single word, Sarah set her fork down and cleared her throat. He closed his mouth as he looked at her. She was staring down at her plate, her food almost untouched since he had thanked her.

"I...have to confess, Reverend," she murmured, "my husband will not mind your presence because he is not here-"

"What?"

"He..." she closed her eyes and breathed out quietly before opening them again. Ben was taken aback at the sheer amount of pain in them. "He was killed by brigands, raiders, soldiers who wanted our corn and crops one year ago during the winter. He refused to give it to them, wanting some form of payment and also enough for us to survive. They...they killed him...and took our crops..."

"I'm...sorry," Ben grimaced, noting the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. He had been informed by Billy Lee during one of their occasional training sessions that Washington had noticed a lot of the supplies had gone missing and had enlisted Connor's help in retrieving them. Connor had discovered that it was one of the Templars, Benjamin Church who had stolen the winter supplies. He surmised that Sarah and her husband's supplies must have been one of those seized by Church.

"When I found you outside in the rain a day ago, I thought..." she looked away, a little uncomfortable, "well...my husband died one year ago to this very date and I thought...you were sent by God for me to atone for being unable to keep him alive. He...he died in my arms, shot much like you had been. That's why...there was a second plate out..."

Ben stopped eating and put his fork down as he swallowed past the small lump of sympathy in his throat. She looked so small, and so alone. "Sarah," he hesitated on his words for a second before forcing himself to continue as she looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears, "I will pray for him tonight and for your kindness in saving my life."

She could only nod before picking up her fork again and pushed her food around. Ben stared at her for a little bit, studying her. She was pretty and as much as he suddenly wanted the touch of a woman, his instincts screamed caution; not to mention the still throbbing pain of his gut shot warning him that it was only recently stitched. He could feel a blooming wetness on the cloth covering his wound and knew that they would have to be changed soon. There was also the fact to consider as his cover. His father was a Reverend, and was certainly not celibate considering he and Samuel existed, but he also knew that men of the cloth had higher standards to live up to and perceived needs and wants, especially those of the flesh, were thought of differently for clergymen.

His cover was that of a traveling Reverend and he did not know much about Sarah Livingston at the moment to abandon his cover. There was also the fact that she had practically admitted to a lie, which made him less inclined to trust her at the moment. Considering he was still in Franklin, it meant that Gamble was more than likely looking for him and he needed his strength and health – which meant making sure that Sarah did not betray him nor did he betray his own cover.

Ben picked up his fork again and resumed eating, though he kept a careful eye on the newly discovered widowed Mrs. Livingston.


	18. Assassins - Part 3

Letters Home: Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Part 3_

 _"And this is the warning?" Ben gestured with a quick flick of his hand and felt the gun shift against his head._

 _"Oh no," Welles' smile was full of teeth, "this is not even close to a warning. This is just a simple execution."_

 _Before Ben could do anything Ames suddenly fired one of his pistols, making him jump a little. But the shot was not directed at him, and a second later, he saw Henry's body pitch forward lifelessly, a bloody hole through the back of his head. He could not stop the gasp that escaped from his lips and even sensed John's shock as the gun digging into his head wavered. Betsy's face was splashed with bits of blood and grey matter as she stared in mute horror at the body of her dead brother. Silence reigned in the clearing for a few seconds before Ben caught the moment when Betsy regained use of her faculties. Her fingers trembled as they touched her mouth, her eyes widened in abject horror-_

 _"No, wait! Stop! Stop!" he shouted as he saw Ames about to shoot the pistol and held his hands out in an effort to stop him from shooting Betsy. "She's innocent! She's not a part-"_

 _"She's a witness," Welles cut him off softly, "and you dragged her into this yourself Major-"_

 _"Please...please!" Ben had never thought to resort to begging, but he took a step forward, ignoring the push of John's gun into the back of his head to stop him from moving another step, "Please don't shoot her, okay? Don't...for the love of God, don't-"_

 _His words stuttered to a halt at the sudden banging discharge of Ames' pistol going off. Betsy's chest suddenly bloomed red as she fell to the ground with a sudden sharp cry before falling silent._

Ben's eyes snapped open at the cold touch of small fingers caressing his cheek and jaw before they were placed on his forehead. For a moment, he thought he saw Betsy Adamson's face above his before another blink of his eyes resolved the image into that of Sarah Livingston's concerned gaze.

"You've a minor fever," she murmured quietly, her cold fingers lifting from his forehead before she moved away.

Ben could not help the shiver that ran through him as he blinked again and rubbed his eyes, wincing at the lancing pain to his side from the movement he made. He did feel a little off, as if his body was just a bit too warm, yet cold, the prickly sensation of the woolen blankets covering him scratching in such a way that it was uncomfortable. He huddled deeper in his blankets, before a damp warm cloth was placed on his forehead and he blearily looked up to see Sarah's gaze back on him.

"My mother sweated the fever out of us," her mouth turned into a small frown, "it will not feel comfortable, but it will help."

Ben nodded as she sat back and he realized that she had pulled her chair up close to his bed. It was also then that he noticed she had her bible on her lap and surmised that she must have been reading it while he had slept fitfully. The sensation of a minor fever was familiar to Ben, having suffered something similar when he was shot in the shoulder two years ago. The doctor had only prescribed rest, bandages, and some hot food when he could before he had left. The only saving grace was that General Scott had allowed him to stay in in the house he had occupied, he supposed as a testament to his escape from Robert Rogers and his Queen's Rangers. He hoped the fever would pass soon, but he also knew that sometimes, when a wounded soldier incurred a fever, it did not pass and the wounded man succumbed to the heat of the hell-fire that ravaged his body.

"You sounded if you had a nightmare," Sarah started quietly, seeing that he was still awake.

Ben wanted to turn and sleep some more, but he realized that he had been staring at her without any comment or noise and she had took that to mean he was willing to talk. He licked his lips, his throat a little parched before she reached over and tilted a cup at him. He drank it without comment, a little surprised that it was water instead of wine, but it soothed his parched throat nonetheless.

"I...had failed to save someone," the dream was oddly vivid, as if he had been back at Wethersfield, but looking on the whole scene itself in ghostly form. He remembered that his phantom limbs had refused to move, as if he was sluggishly moving through deep waters.

"They...were possessed?" Sarah's eyes had widened a little in alarm and Ben shook his head.

"No," he replied, "just an innocent in the wrong place. She and her brother...they had been taken hostage by enemy soldiers who wanted nothing more than to see blood shed..." Even though he had admitted to Washington that the ambush in Wethersfield had been for him, he still felt guilty for involving Betsy Adamson in all of it. He understood that one might have mistaken her brother Henry since he was a Continental soldier, but Betsy had been completely innocent from the horrors of war.

If only he had been more vigilant, had been more aware that he had been targeted and that Ames and Welles were willing to ruthlessly use his men and their families as leverage. If only he had been more mindful of his training...if only he had known that the Templars would target him even though he was not part of the Assassin Brotherhood. The Templars and the Assassins and their damning secret war...using the Continentals and even the British in such a way to further their own goals. He curled a fist underneath his blankets and looked away, frustration filling him.

Ben was a little surprised when he suddenly felt her hand reach under the covers for his own and absently grasped his hand as she pulled it out. He could feel his skin prickle uncomfortably in its own feverish way at the sudden exposure from its hot-cold warmth of the blankets into the air. His fingers automatically curled around hers, as she rubbed his knuckles.

"You," he looked back to see Sarah staring at him, a gentle expression on her face, "are a man of God. You could not know what sways the hearts and minds of those who would commit sins in the name of Satan. The blood that was shed is on the guilt of those rebels, not you-"

"R-Rebels," Ben stuttered out, but she seemed to not have noticed his stuttering as she nodded and continued.

"You are not the only one who had been affected by their war against the Crown, wielding Satan's words and rebelling against the law of the land and becoming nothing more than those savages," she said. It took every effort on Ben's part to resist pulling his hand out of hers as realization dawned on him.

She was a Tory.

He was as sure of it as the day he had sworn to be an officer in the Continental Army. Something of his realization must have shown on his face as she frowned a little.

"Reverend?" she asked, her fingers stopping their motion.

Ben thought fast as he cleared his throat a little. "It is nothing," he shook his head a little, "just troublesome thoughts-"

"I did not mean to trouble your thoughts further," Sarah looked aghast and Ben realized it was the wrong thing to day.

"No, no," he tried to reassure her, moving his other hand out from under the covers and patted their clasped hands gently, wincing a little at the twisting movement he had put on his body, "you've opened my eyes to the differences in this war." An idea occurred to him, "Tell me, you seemed more troubled by these, rebels, judging by your words." It had been an effort for him to even refer to his fellow Continentals by the Tory epithet, but he hoped he sounded more natural than anything else. In his mind's eye, he could see his mentor, Sackett, nodding his head, the bobble of his glasses shining in the imaginary light that bathed him.

"I..." Sarah lowered their clasped hands and he leaned back against his pillow, blinking rapidly against the wave of pain from his stomach, but refused to let it show. He still felt oddly prickly hot, but knew that he needed to understand why Sarah Livingston hated the Continentals. If Gamble were to find him here, he would not only have to contend with him, but also possibly Sarah and her Pennsylvania rifle. He vaguely remembered her holding the rifle expertly across her lap when he had first awakened and introduced himself as Reverend Brewster. She _knew_ how to use that rifle and Ben needed to make sure that she remained friendly to him instead of potentially betray him.

"I..." she started again as she looked down at her plain dress, "those brigands...they were soldiers who had been ordered to seize all crops, all supplies and foodstuffs from the area at any cost. They claimed that they were taking it to the Continental winter camp and that there was a greater need for it than we had for it to survive the winter. M-My husband...he protested, and...they shot him. I...found him, much like I found you that night. The doctor was too far away and I watched him die in my arms... When you...when you came, it was one year ago since he had died...so I thought..."

Tears fell down her cheek as Ben looked on. As much as he wanted to reach out and stop those tears, to caress her, to give her a moment of sympathy and comfort, he could not. A well of disgust and of horror had started to grow in him at her words. When she had said that the Continentals had been wintering in the nearby camp, he realized that last winter, they had been at Valley Forge and hundreds of soldiers had died when the supplies had been stolen. Ben also realized that it had been more than likely on his Commander-in-Chief's orders to do so, a temporary measure to ensure that hundreds of more soldiers did not die in the harsh winter. While he had been patrolling the Schuykill River and then counting troop numbers in Boston, this had happened.

And Ben felt a little sick.

Sarah was absently rubbing his knuckles now, her hand gripping his tightly as it sat on her lap. She was staring at nothing in particular and Ben could only stare in sympathy. Even though she was a Tory, he knew that anything he said, even as Reverend Brewster, would stick in his throat, would be a lie, and would possibly turn her against him. And so he said nothing, allowing her the moment to lose herself in her thoughts. Maybe God would give them this one night of peace, but Ben knew that he would have to act soon, because the same sense that enabled him to survive countless ambushes and gave him his sharpshooting gift; something in him told him that he would have to choose – and soon. That his survival would depend on it.


	19. Assassins - Part 4

Letters Home: Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Part 4_

Morning came in the form of the loud chirp of a bird, followed by the annoying knocking sound of a woodpecker hunting for bugs. Ben opened his eyes to find something warm pillowed against his legs and pushed himself up a little to see that Sarah had fallen asleep near the foot of the bed, her hands and arms folded near the edges of the bed, her head pillowed across them. It looked like she had knelt on the ground and fell asleep, her Pennsylvania rifle on the floor in front of her.

Ben grimaced a little as he pushed himself up, his eyes feeling scratchy as he wiped his face and found his hands covered in the drenching sweat that indicated he had broken the mild fever that had gripped him after dinner last night. His body felt oddly light, but he knew that it was due to the fever breaking. He needed a quick wash and grimaced a little as he pushed himself further up, hoping to not wake Sarah.

However, she must have been sleeping lightly as he saw her suddenly start a little lifting her head up, and look around. He saw her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him sitting up before she smiled and he returned it.

"Your fever-"

Ben shook his head as she reached out to touch him and she frowned before noting the sheen on his face and the dampness of his shirt. The cold air in the room chilled the dampness he was feeling and he could feel his skin pucker a little.

"Goodness, you've certainly broken it," she smiled a little before pushing herself up from the floor and wiping her hands on her the front of her apron, "here, let me go find another clean shirt and get the fire going some more."

"You have a well?" he asked, hoping for some water to clean himself off with and she nodded.

"In the back, a little to the side of the outhouse," she said as she went over to the fireplace and started to tend it.

Ben pushed the rest of the blankets and quilt covering him, as he gingerly swung his legs to the ground, breathing through his mouth at the still sharp-shooting pain he felt from his wound. The dampness of last night was gone and Ben realized that Sarah had changed his bandages when he had slept.

"I grew up with two older brothers and had a husband," Sarah suddenly said from where she was and Ben looked up to see her with a slight smile on her face.

He blushed, feeling the heat rise up in him at the sudden lapse of embarrassment. He still felt that it was perhaps improper of her to have changed his clothes and even dress him, but tried to push the impropriety aside, he would not have survived the night if it was not for her ministrations. "Thank you," he said as he carefully stood up and found that though his legs felt weak, they supported him better than they had last night.

He glanced at her through his lowered head and saw that she was back tending to the fire, expertly pushing a few of the old embers aside and adding some more kindling. Seeing that she was occupied, he took a few tentative steps towards the direction of the door and found that even though his strength had waned considerably, he was a lot stronger than the night before. Opening the door, he stepped out, hugging his arms to himself at the sudden early-winter gust that had kicked up. He could see frost dotting the ground, whatever rain that had fallen in the past few days icing over and knew that the well would be filled with extremely cold water.

He made his way around the back of the house and saw both the outhouse and the small well that halfway to the outhouse. The evergreen bushes and trees that dotted the area gave at least some leaf cover from the path that passed by the front of the house, but most of the trees were already shedding their late brown-colored leaves. Ben reached the well and was about to pull the rope up when he heard the distant snort of what sounded like a horse and paused, every single one of his instincts going on alert. It looked like it something was coming down the road.

He thought fast as he looked around and walked as quickly as he could to where the outhouse was, hiding behind it. He grimaced at the smell that wafted across his senses, nearly making him gag. He forced himself to ignore it as he peered out to see three people riding down the road, two of them unrecognizable, the other – Gamble. Ben cursed silently in his head as he turned back and gritted his teeth. Of all of the people to have found him and even now. Ben's mind raced as he tried to figure out a way of leading Gamble off of his trail. There was no doubt in his mind that Sarah would mention him as just a simple Reverend that she was caring for, and while she would not know who he really was, he had no doubts that Gamble would know that it was him.

He also did not want Sarah to come to any harm from her ignorance and knew that Gamble would be a man who would torture women or hurt them just to both hurt him and to hunt him down. He had ruthlessly slit Nathaniel Sackett's throat, set up an innocent Continental for the fall; who was to say that he would not hurt Sarah even though she was a Tory. Gamble was a British soldier and he knew that the British only tolerated the Tories as both sources of information and were quick to blame them as Continental sympathizers even though they proclaimed their allegiance to the Crown.

He quickly glanced out again and saw the three approach the cottage as he glanced around him to see if there was anything he could do to draw them off. He spotted a rock and reached down to pick it up. Ben bit back a sudden cry of pain at his own foolish movement before he straightened and hefted the rock. He could hear them dismounting and threw the small rock as hard as possible, a grunt issuing from his lips.

Ben could hear Gamble's voice going on alert, but could not hear what was said before he pushed himself as best as he could against the wall of the outhouse as one of the other men rushed by, musket held in his hand. He could see the man avoid some of the larger branches that littered the ground and realized that he was a hunter of sorts – more than likely not quite a good one, but one who knew the woods a little better than the British soldiers. It stood to reason that the other man Gamble had with him was probably also another local hunter.

He glanced back to see Gamble and the other man had disappeared and grimaced. He had to draw them away from Sarah. Ben shook his head as he realized could almost hear Achilles' admonishment along with his own father's voice in his mind to not do something so foolish. Sarah was an innocent and the first tenet of the Creed was to stay the blade from the flesh of an innocent. He was certainly _not_ going to let some common assassin who did not serve either the Brotherhood or Order hurt Sarah.

Ben put a hand on his wound, hoping that he did not rip his stitching as he pushed himself off the outhouse wall. He ran down the hill, the opposite direction of where he had thrown the rock. The reaction was immediate as he heard a shout to his left and knew he had been spotted by the one who had been sent to see what the noise was. Ben ducked at the sudden sound of a rifle discharging, the musket ball splitting wood close to where he ran and pushed forward.

He could not keep the grimace off of his face as his wound protested his movements, but Ben could hear another voice join them and knew that his actions had at least drawn two of the men away. Whether one of them was Gamble or not, he could not tell by the crunch of leaves and branches he was kicking up, but he knew that if he circled back, he could hopefully at least deal with one man instead of all three. The only question was how was he to make it so that he lost the two on him and double back without being seen?


	20. Assassins - Part 5

Letters Home: Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Part 5_

Ben hoped that the evergreen cover on the ridge of he found himself on was enough to hide him from any one passing by. He supposed that the clothing Sarah had given to him was dark enough to blend into the evergreen. He could feel his wound throbbing, but there was no telltale sign of the stitching ripping since he had ran from the Livingston property to here along the banks of a small stream. It was not the cleverest of misdirection, but it had been something he had learned from his father in one of his 'lessons' that had been disguised as Assassin training. When Ben had been younger, he had thought it a clever idea to draw away any predators like bears or wolves, but knew better now. It _was_ used to draw predators away, but more for the human kind.

He forced himself to quiet his breathing, the harshness of his breath grating on him from the pain of his wound as well as how fast he had run to this area. Not moments later, he heard the crunch of leaves nearby and stilled.

"See him?" Gamble's voice was so close, practically next to the thick evergreen brush cover he was using that Ben thought he could reach out and touch him.

"Not yet," the voice of one of the hunters was also close before there was a bit of scuffling sound and Ben saw through the cover the man kneeling on the ground. He watched as the hunter brushed away some leaves before righting. "That way sir," the hunter said, "tracks leading that way."

"Let's go," Gamble ordered and Ben heard them move away.

He dared not make any movements, knowing that at this critical juncture, the snap of a branch or the crackle of leaves would give him away. Ben stared at nothing in particular before he heard the excited shout of the hunter and finally let himself relax ja little as he smiled.

They had found his misdirection. Two scraps of cloth that he had ripped from the shirt Sarah had given to him. One was covered a bit in sweat, the other from the slight drip of blood that was healing from his wound. He had made the tears look like they were from patching up his own wound that had supposedly ripped during his escape. Ben twisted in his crouch and hefted another stone he had picked up from the brook. He stood up, seeing their distant forms further down the stream and threw the stone as hard as he could, grimacing at the pull of his wound.

The stone sailed straight into the brook and made a splashing sound. To his good fortune, it had also started several deer that had been apparently approaching the stream. Their startled and agitated honks were belied by their sudden departure and crash through the woods.

"He's there," he heard Gamble say as Ben ducked back down before the sound of splashing echoed across the area and Ben finally breathed a sigh of relief. They were headed deeper down the stream, thinking that he had used it to try to mask his tracks. He was safe for now.

Ben stood up and waited two heartbeats before taking off in the opposite direction, back to the Livingston house. He lightly re-traced his steps, mindful of the crunch of branches and dead leaves. He arrived in short order to where the outhouse was and headed over to another small ridge that overlooked the house, hoping he could at least see the man that had been left behind. Ben scrabbled over small rocks and leaf cover as he reached the small ridge and crouched as he surveyed the house. He could not see any sign of the other hunter that had been left behind- There! He spotted the other man pacing a few steps back and forth in the front, seemingly bored as he held his rifle slung across a shoulder.

Ben slid down the ridge quietly, gritting his teeth at the jarring movement it put on his wound. He approached the back of the house, his senses alert in case the hunter was aware of his presence as he scanned the area for anything he could use as a weapon. He knew he could not risk close-quarters fighting, not with his wound. Any blow to it would hinder his ability to fight back and even now, it still throbbed with the recent exertions he put on it. He spotted a jagged looking rock and picked it up, hefting it in his hand. It was larger than the stones he had used to throw off Gamble in the woods, but it would have to do.

Ben squared his shoulders and breathed out quietly as he slowly approached the left side of the house. He could hear the muffle sound of Sarah inside and hoped that she was all right and that Gamble did not hurt her. He was not sure if she now knew of his deception, but he hoped that he could at least incapacitate, if not kill the hunter that was minding the horses and waiting, without her knowledge. He could then steal one of the horses and leave without anyone the wiser until it was too late. He did not want to leave her under such circumstances, but Ben could not risk his own cover nor could he risk anything else. She had already announced her allegiance to the Crown and he did not want her to suffer anymore for harboring a Patriot even under duplicitous circumstances. She had suffered enough, there was no need for him to add to her suffering anymore.

He pressed himself against the side of the house until he was just towards the edge where the front and side met. He could hear the ambling steps of the hunter who was wandering and closed his eyes briefly. Whispering a silent prayer to God to give him good fortune, Ben opened his eyes and brought his rock up to bear just as the hunter stepped into his line of attack.

He slammed the rock into the man's face just as he saw his eyes widen before they rolled back up into his head, blood gushing out of the wound he had given to him. Ben's hands were immediately coated in the sticky thick liquid as the smell of metal filled his nose. His other hand immediately grasped onto the front of the man's shirt and jacket as he let go of his rock and slowly lowered him to the ground. He grunted a little as he hefted the weight of the hunter and his own protesting wound, before finally collapsing to the ground almost on top of him.

Ben immediately looked around to see if anyone heard anything, but did not hear anything amiss. He looked back down at the man and started to strip him of his jacket, putting his rifle to the side to use later. He unstrapped the man's musket ball pouch and powder along with his hunting knife and strapped the belt onto his own waist, wincing as the belt pressed against his gut wound. Ignoring the flare of pain, he turned the hunter's body to the side and shucked his jacket off of him, hearing something tear, but surmised that it was probably the inner threads.

Ben finished taking the man's jacket off and stuck his own arms through, the warmth of the jacket immediately giving him some relief from the chill he had been feeling since he had left the warm confines of the cabinet. He checked to make sure the man's belt was secure on him and grabbed the hunting knife's handle to check its sharpness before he froze, the distinctive cocking of a hammer being drawn back echoing behind him.

Ben instinctively drew the hunting knife as he looked up and nearly dropped it at the sight of Sarah holding her Pennsylvania rifle in his face. There was a cold, hurt expression on her face and her grip on the rifle was unwavering.

"How could you?!" she whispered, her voice tight with anger and betrayal as Ben slowly stood up, hoping that he did not die by a musket ball right then and there. The barrel of the rifle followed his movements, but it seemed like Sarah was not inclined to shooting at the moment.

"My name is Major Benjamin Tallmadge of the Continental Army," Ben said, marveling at how steady his own voice was, "I wasn't exactly lying with what I told you last night. My father was a Reverend-"

"You..." she glared at him, "you _lied_. You...you-"

"I am sorry Sarah, for your loss," Ben interrupted, "I did not know at what lengths the army would have gone to for the missing and stolen supplies last winter-"

"My _husband_ died! He died! For your godforsaken war!" she nearly shouted, her grip wavering just a little bit, "and now...?!"

"I'm sorry," Ben knew his apology was not the best he could do, but he could not say anything else, "I didn't meant to lie, but-"

"That man, Gamble, whatever his name, said you _killed_ a Reverend! A man of _God!"_

Ben pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew that if he kept apologizing, Sarah was more than likely to shoot him, but he also knew that if he told the truth, maybe he would have a better chance of not being shot. From the brief time that he knew her, she liked firm convictions and forgiveness in the eyes of God. She was a true and devout woman of the Bible and of all of the teachings his father had taught him as a Reverend was to always admit the truth. He nodded once, "Yes. I did."

It seemed his hunch was correct and Ben thanked the niggling sixth sense he had that seemed to get him out of danger more than once. Sarah's expression was one of shock, but he saw the rifle lower just a hair at his admission of the truth.

"Y-You..." he could see the disgust on her face and a part of him that found her pretty wished that it was not there. She was a woman who should not have such an expression. He saw her flick a look at the body of the hunter he had stripped of his clothing and weapons. "I-Is he...?"

"No," he replied before indicating with a tilt of his head at the rock he had dropped to the side, "I hit him, but not hard enough to kill."

She swallowed, visibly struggling to keep her composure, "I...I didn't want it to be the truth- That the officer was lying-"

"That man killed my mentor, my friend in Washington's camp. He is a _snake_ in the field of grass, a viper that has no place in Eden nor in the earthly grounds of this world," Ben said heatedly.

"Are you going to kill me now?" she asked, her tone blunt and cold and all of the anger he had for Gamble rushed out of him as he blinked, surprised. He realized that he had raised the hunting knife in an unconscious defensive stance, blade nestled close to his hand and wrist, pointed outward as if it was a hidden blade of sorts.

"N-No-"

"Then get out," she looked like she was on the verge of crying, tears forming at the corner of her eyes, "get out and don't ever come back. I do not want to see your face ever again."

"Y-You're-"

"Get out!" she half-shouted, taking a step back and Ben tentatively moved, watching her and her rifle carefully before she gestured with a jerk of her rifle for him to get going.

He knew it was a risk, but turned and sheathed the hunting knife as he made for one of the horses left behind and got onto it. Wheeling it around, he gave her a long apologetic look before spurring the horse. As he galloped away, he could only feel the sadness and remorse of what he had done to Sarah Livingston by lying to her face. She had been an innocent and he had swept her up in this whole debacle. He had failed the first tenet of the Creed.

~END~


	21. Cold Murdering Assassins

Cold Murdering Assassins

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Connor is hunting for Charles Lee in the aftermath of the Battle of Monmouth and discovers that his prey is also being hunted by none other than his former ally Benjamin Tallmadge. Season 3, Episode 5 "Hypocrisy, Fraud, and Tyranny" through Connor's eyes.

 **Story:**

* * *

Jacob Zenger and James Colley had not reported much as to Charles Lee's whereabouts since the disgraced General's dismissal from the Continental Army, but that did not prevent Connor from making bi-weekly trips into York City to check the dead drop for their reports. At the same time he helped with efforts to thwart British efforts to maintain order in the city. He had made it clear to his fellow Assassins that his alliance with Washington and the Continental Army was over, but the fight against the Templars was not. It had taken his former recruits a few weeks to adjust, their initial loyalties clearly to the Patriots instead of the Brotherhood, but they had all adjusted well. They understood his reasoning and they understood what it meant to be an Assassin against the backdrop of the American revolution, fighting against the Templars.

Even so, they all knew that while the formal alliance with the Continentals was over, the Templars were still controlling the British – so efforts to stymie their plans and their schemes were still carried out. Now, it was a way to flush out Lee – and if it meant thwarting the British in their war against the Patriots, then so be it. Connor had no doubts that Lee had immediately fled to British lines, but where he had fled to was another question.

Zenger and Colley had been sent down to the southern states to assess and cultivate contacts for the war effort. They had not reported anything regarding Charles Lee. Chapeau was still based in Boston and had not heard any whispers while Duncan Little made no mention of Lee potentially fleeing into British-Canadian territory. Clipper Wilkinson also made no mention of Lee in Pennsylvania, Maryland, or New Jersey. Connor had sent him down there knowing that the sharpshooter was the best of all of them at blending in and taking down a target from further away than any of them. He had hoped that Lee would have been in Pennsylvania or New Jersey after his court martial, and Wilkinson would have injured him enough for Connor to collect him – but that was not the case.

Instead, he was following Dobby Carter's lead. She had reported whispers that the Rivington Corner Tavern had seen some unusual activity of people skulking around at night; coming up from the cellars, carrying burlap sacks and bundles that looked rather heavy. There was also the sharp odor of ink about the place – as if James Rivington himself had printed hundreds of leaflets and the paper, but distribution had not gone up. She reported that none of the paperboys were even carrying more than their usual load.

Connor had managed to ambush the last boat before it had left the docks while Dobby had distracted the guards and found that all of the sacks contained Continental dollars. Questioning one of them men that had been set to distribute them, he had found out that they were intended to flood the market with the counterfeit bills and lower the value of Continental dollars. It concerned him, especially since he was using both poundage and dollars to fund his information network and to purchase supplies for his Assassins and for the Homestead. But the more immediate concern was that this plot reeked of something the Templars would do. In fact, it reeked of Lee and his wily ways to try to get back at what had happened in Monmouth.

Connor had immediately ordered Dobby to torch the money while he set off to follow the rest of the boats up the Hudson River.

He followed them at a discreet pace, hoping that wherever they landed, they would be able to lead him to Lee's hiding place. This was contested territory near Fort Westpoint, and Connor knew that it was an ideal place for someone as slippery as Lee to hide in – trading in favors for protection, playing both sides of the war. It would just be like Lee to examine his handiwork before spreading the counterfeit money all over the states to demoralize them and drive down the Continental dollar.

A very small part of him whispered to warn the Continentals of what the British were doing, especially since he knew that this was something of a great concern to his former ally Benjamin Tallmadge, but he quashed it. Tallmadge had made his allegiances clear – that he would follow Washington time and time again, choosing the man over the tenets of the Creed. And while a part of Connor lamented that a fellow kindred spirit who could have had so much potential in the Brotherhood had thrown it away, he was aware that Tallmadge had spoken the truth when they had first met. The man wanted no part of the Assassin Brotherhood for this exact fear – choosing the Creed over his personal loyalties.

Connor shook his head as he ran across the treetops; if this matter would lead him to Lee, then there was nothing else to concern himself over. With Lee gone, the Grand Master would have no one behind him and his influence over the British would wane. The war would come to a swift end and the Patriots would have their freedom. His people would be safe and their lands would be untouched. He paused, catching himself on a branch as he saw the faint glow of lanterns start to split off in the river, some going towards smaller inlets, others continuing upriver. He frowned. There was no way he could follow two forces.

He quickly activated the gift that his mother said had been given by the spirits and found his surroundings awash in a hazy glow of greys and whites. Focusing his attention on the boats, he saw them outline in a faint reddish hue, a sign that they were his enemies and concentrated further. He needed to find the one that would have information for him- There! One of the boats that was still heading upriver had a faint glowing gold outline. Letting his sight return to normal, Connor followed his target, stealthily leaping through the trees for another mile or so until he stopped short, watching as he saw two of the boats head towards shore.

He let his vision flicker into his gifted sight, the Eagle Sense, counting the amount of red-hued enemies he would have to kill or disable before he reached the informant. He counted around twelve men in each boat and by the shores of the river, he saw the faint outline of civilians. They were not red-hued, but rather were bright white. Innocents and clearly not a part of the operation though he could tell that they were waiting for the boats to come in. Smugglers then, he supposed as he studied them. There was a chance if he ambushed one of the boats that all of them, including the smugglers would turn instantly red, enemies-

The flickering faint blue could have been missed had he not been so observant, but nonetheless it caught Connor's attention as he turned his head to the right and blinked, surprise filling him. Hidden behind trees and overturned logs on the hill that crested down towards the banks of the river, were the faint outlines of blue-hued allies, at least six of them. From his vantage point, he could not see who they were, but the fact that they glowed blue, made Connor pause.

He let his vision slip back to normal and cupped his hands towards his mouth. He trilled the faint call of a great owl towards the direction of the blue-hued allies. Were they from Kanién:keh? From one of the allies of the alliance of the region's tribes? He paused to listen, and not even a second later, heard the hooting of an owl, denoting that there was at least one of region's tribesman nearby. One of his own would have answered with a different animal call, but a general owl's call was used among the six tribes that allied themselves with each other against the British and French oppressors. However, what was even more curious was that he saw the faint movement behind a tree before someone started to climb up.

Connor watched as the person climbed up, slightly unsure of the footing, but managed to scramble up into a branch before carefully moving over, seemingly gaining more confidence to pass through the trees with ease as he got closer. Through the faint moonlight that filtered through the evergreen branches and browning leaves, Connor could see that it was a man coming towards him...and was dressed in the very familiar colors of blue and gold.

"Tallmadge," Connor greeted neutrally as Continental officer and head of Washington's intelligence stopped near him. There was a small giddy expression on the man's face before it gave way to slight trepidation – as if he had just recognized how high off the ground he was in and what he had just done.

"It's...been a while...since I did something like this," the officer carefully backed himself against a stump and seemed to relax a little more now that he was not fully perched on the edges of a branch. "Connor, I thought that was you," the man greeted, sounding a lot friendlier than the greeting he had given him.

Tallmadge's eyes gleamed with the brightness of a predator on a hunt and Connor immediately surmised that the other man must have gotten some bit of intelligence and information from his own network to be out here.

"I need that man alive," he pointed towards the man who was clearly in charge of unloading the counterfeit dollars.

"So do I," Tallmadge nodded once, his expression grim, "That's Lieutenant Gamble and I need to know where the other boats went."

"I do not know where," it was not exactly a lie, but neither did Connor feel like telling Tallmadge the whole of the truth. He still did not trust what the man reported to Washington, even though he seemed eager to see him here. Tallmadge trusted him too easily, Connor scoffed, the Old Man's words of wisdom ringing in his head. The last time both had parted from each other it was at pistol and blade point. He wondered if Tallmadge had forgotten it – weapons pointed at each other was normally not forgotten.

"The smugglers are Patriot-leaning. They will help us," Tallmadge continued as if he had not heard him.

Connor only gave him a look before gesturing with his chin towards the other boat that had been clearly hidden behind the brush, but was visible from the trees, "Your smugglers would not have seen a second raiding party should you have sprung your ambush."

The intelligence officer made a small noise of frustration as he peered over his shoulder to see the second boat with men jumping from it with their wares. Connor studied Tallmadge for a moment, clearly seeing that the man was planning something as he absently rubbed his chin. He looked worn, a little more exhausted and older since they had last met at Monmouth. He was also clearly favoring his side and it told him that Tallmadge had been recently wounded. It seemed that it had been a serious wound considering that he was paler than usual. The corner of his eyes crinkled in pain, but it seemed Tallmadge was ignoring his wound in favor of completing his mission. It also told Connor that the fact that Tallmadge had been willing to ascend to the treetops and meet him when he was still wounded meant that he was sincere in his desire to start anew. And that was something that unsettled Connor. His trust in Washington and by extension Tallmadge had been broken when he had discovered the General's duplicitous nature in what had happened to his village. He was sick of being manipulated and given only the barest of information to help further the goals of others and knew that Tallmadge operated in the same way.

He was not blind to the fact that when Tallmadge had approached Achilles all those months ago, it had been an attempt to recruit him as a source of information, to be drawn further into the schemes of the Patriots. While he had his own recruits and sources of information, Connor made it clear that they were to serve the Brotherhood, the Patriot cause secondary to the Creed. With Tallmadge, it was the opposite – Tallmadge wanted him to serve the Patriot cause and even withheld information from time to time. He would have been used when convenient and Connor had no doubt that when it was inconvenient he would have been cut off and thrown away.

But now... Connor mentally shook his head and jerked his head towards the second boat, bringing the other man out of his thoughts. "Rally your men. I will handle the second boat. I will question Gamble first. He may have information about Charles Lee."

Tallmadge's lips pressed into a thin line, seemingly warring with something internal before he nodded once. "All right," he agreed before turning and gingerly climbed down from the tree.

Connor watched him land, wondering if Tallmadge had orders to prevent him from questioning Gamble first, but put the thought aside as he turned and hurried across the branches to a better vantage point. He did not care for whatever orders the other man had been given by Washington. He was going to find Lee and kill him. Still, he did acknowledge the fact that Tallmadge had learned a little more about the art of stealth as he had not heard him land or scramble back to where his men were positioned until he heard the quiet _thwip_ of an arrow arcing through the air before one of the boats caught fire. It was followed not even a second later by the reports of musket fire.

"Patriots on me! They are Redcoats!" Tallmadge's shout echoed in the air and Connor leap into action.

He threw his rope dart into the first man and leap backwards from the branch he was on, the momentum hurling the man into the air where he choked to death. Rolling forward as he landed, he knocked into the next soldier and quickly wrapped the other end of the rope dart around the man's neck, securing it by stabbing him in his shoulder before letting him go. The man went flying into the air as counterweight, the snapping of his neck audible over the sound of musket fire and cries of those who had been shot. Connor drew out his tomahawk and slammed it into the face of the next one, blood gushing out in a fountain of black-looking ink, while he drew out his pistol and fired across the dead man's shoulder, killing the soldier behind him. He threw his pistol aside and pulled out his tomahawk as he twisted and swung it into the legs of a soldier, sending him to the ground. The soldier's bag of counterfeit money scattered to the ground and was stained with blood by the cleaving finishing blow Connor dealt to him.

Rolling up from his crouch, Connor threw his tomahawk, sending another soldier to the ground, dead, before reaching out to skewer another in the head. He twisted his body to block the fire of muskets and felt the balls impact the body of the dead man he had used as a shield. He pulled out his blade with a wet sounding noise and drew out his pistol to fire a double shot at the last two soldiers who had tried to fire at him. They both rocked back at the same time and fell to the ground, dead.

Just then, a familiar grunt of pain rang through the air and Connor looked over to see Tallmadge rocking back from a brutal kick to his side, having personally gone after Gamble on the burning whaleboat. He could see that the blow had stunned him, more than likely where his wound was, and Connor was about to move to help him when he saw Tallmadge charge forward again. He was successful in grappling with Gamble as the two wrestled for control over a knife that had been in British officer's hands. Connor found himself moving to help Tallmadge, knowing that the intelligence officer, for whatever minimal training he had, was clearly outmatched by what Connor recognized as Templar training in Gamble.

However, even before he got a few steps, there was a slip of hands and the two collapsed on top of each other. Connor scrambled towards them and stopped as he saw Tallmadge had been the clear winner, blood foaming from Gamble's mouth. "Where are the others?!" Tallmadge shouted, his eyes chipped with fury.

Gamble only smiled and choked on his blood before someone brush passed Connor and reached over to pull Tallmadge back.

"Ben, it's too late..." the other man said and Connor recognized him as the bearded man who always seemed to stick like a burr in Tallmadge's side during the few times he had seen the intelligence officer. He did not know his name, but Connor met the man's sharp hard gaze on him with a neutral one of his own. The man jerked his head once before looking back at the dying Gamble.

"W-Where-" Tallmadge's breath hitched as he stumbled a step back, holding his side, his expression a furious grimace of pain along with something that seemed personal. It was a look that Connor recognized – something had happened between Gamble and Tallmadge. The Templar-trained assassin must have hurt someone close to Tallmadge...and it seemed also the bearded man too as he saw him pull out a pistol and point it at Gamble's face.

"For Sackett you bastard," he heard the other man intone before he fired his pistol. The echoing report of the pistol should not have startled Connor, but nonetheless, he jumped a little.

Silence reigned in the clearing save for the sounds of the wounded and dying.

"I'm sorry, Connor," Connor did not realize he had been lost in his thoughts until Tallmadge spoke up into the silence.

He looked up to see Washington's man slowly limp towards him, still favoring and holding his side. The bearded man shadowed behind him, eyes flinty and wary.

"Hey Ben-"

"It's fine," Tallmadge held up a hand to stop the other man from saying anything else. "I know you wanted to question Gamble," Tallmadge addressed him again, "and I'm sorry. I can give you what I know about Charles Lee. He was taken away by a man named Haytham Kenway who is the Grand Master of the Templars."

"You've met Kenway," Connor stated and saw Tallmadge nod once.

"Kenway promised to keep Lee out of the war for however long it lasts," Tallmadge said and Connor's eyes narrowed as he heard the shaded truth behind the words. Washington had negotiated with his father and had the gall- He blew out a breath, trying to calm himself against the ire that rose in him. Tallmadge was doing him a favor by telling him this, he repeated silently to himself and saw that the other man had stopped talking, his posture and expression wary.

"Thank...you," it was an effort to say those words, fury still rolling around him, but he saw Tallmadge acknowledge the thanks with a cautious tilt of his head. Connor pursed his lips for a second before deciding to tell him what he had observed, "That man, Gamble, was Templar-trained. Your skills have improved."

Something that looked a little like sadness seemed to flicker through Tallmadge's eyes before he nodded once, "Thank you...I...I hope we are able to work together again, Connor."

"Perhaps," Connor really did not want to involve himself in Washington's affairs anymore, now that he knew that Lee was certainly under his father's protection, but it was the least he could say to the helpful information he had gotten from Tallmadge. With a curt nod, he turned and headed away from Moodna Creek, intent on returning back to New York to coordinate with Dobby and her informants on where Kenway was hiding now. He would find Lee, no matter what it took.

~END~


	22. The Gentleman Spy

The Gentleman Spy

by: Shadow Chaser

 **Summary:**

Episode 6 "Many Mickles Make A Muckle" extended scene. Benjamin Tallmadge through the eyes of Martha Washington.

 **Story:**

* * *

Though Martha Washington enjoyed parties, enjoyed the bland chatter with the other socialites and families that revolved around the upper echelons of society, it was not the reason she attended them. She attended them for the joy of conversing with her husband's officers and confidants. The parties were only a cover for her, a frivolity that she knew was crucial to the war effort, but nonetheless was a necessity at times. Alliances and agreements were made at social gatherings such as this one and she had already teased dear George on his efforts to ensure that people liked him – be it they'd be on opposite sides of an agreement or two. It was the same with the current matter that had been a rift of contention between General Arnold and Joseph Reed.

"Ma'am, is there anything you need?" the quiet soothing voice of George's servant, Billy Lee spoke from her elbow and she turned her head a little to see a kind smile on his coal-black face.

"I am well at the moment Billy, but thank you," she replied, reaching over to pat him on the arm. She saw Billy duck his head a little, still shy and mindful of the propriety that negros maintained in polite society. She studied him out of the corner of her eyes and smiled a little. "I'm glad George took my advice about your new clothing."

"Ah, thank you ma'am," Billy blushed a little before picking at the corner of his waistcoat, "it was a little tight of a fit, but the Major sent me to fix it instead of waiting on him."

"And how is the Major?" from her vantage point near the back of the crowd, she was able to see both Major Tallmadge dancing with the beautiful Peggy Shippen, and on the opposite side conversing in low tones with General Arnold, her husband.

"His health is better, though he did have a recent injury," Billy said and Martha heard a slight exasperating disapproval in the young servant's tone.

"You taught him to the best of your abilities, Billy. Nathaniel would have been proud," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

"I respectfully disagree, ma'am," her smile grew a little wider at Billy's statement, "Mr. Sackett would have been muttering all over the place." Most servants, especially negros would never contradict their owner's statements or even disagree with them publicly. Even Billy had confessed that during one of George's long melancholic episodes last winter, he had found it terrifying when George demanded that they each be treated as equals. Billy had risen up to the occasion in spectacular fashion, but even then he said it had been a metaphoric leap of faith for him to do such a thing.

But Martha had always kept a different counsel with Billy ever since he had come into her household's service. She knew who Billy was and what he was, about the hidden war that had plagued George's older brother, she knew everything and always knew that the best secret keepers were not men – but rather servants and the women of the household. Hence why she ran her household's slaves and servants in a far different manner than most of what had been expected in this day and age. She knew if the facade was ever revealed, it would positively scandalous, but here, in this ball, she was safely anonymous with all of the attention currently on the festivities of the ball.

"That is quite true," she agreed. In her mind's eye she could see her late and dear friend Nathaniel Sackett shaking his head and muttering seemingly nonsensical things as he paced around. "But, the young Major is bright and has already learned from his mistakes." She could clearly see the same preternatural ease in which the Major guided himself around the dance hall reflected with the clear training that from Billy and Nathaniel that both men had instilled in the young officer.

"He has," Billy's voice turned to one of pride.

"You have trained him well," she praised him and saw him duck his head again, bashful from the amount of praise she was heaping on him. She returned to studying the young Major Benjamin Tallmadge, one of her husband's favorites, if not _the_ clear favorite of all of George's proteges. The letters he sent her in their own code heaped his frustrations and praises of Tallmadge's exploits. Some of them she knew that he could not reveal, not without compromising whatever enterprise his head of intelligence had built, but Martha was adept at reading in between the lines. And in a way, she had found herself adopting young Benjamin as a son much like she had unofficially adopted all of her husband's proteges.

She was too old to bear children for George and she knew that it hurt him in a way. She also knew that he had tried to compensate for that by favoring some of the officers that served under him, whether it was his aide-de-camps Hamilton, Laurens, and a few others, or even the Marquis de Lafayette. But it seemed like it was young Benjamin who was his favored son – certain never an Esau or Jacob, but favored from what she read from George's letters.

And it was because of the amount of frustration she had read from his letters, at how he was trying to nurture the young officer's latent talents, but at the same time, she read the real fear of his own actions towards Benjamin. Martha knew that George feared turning into his brother, Lawrence's Templar legacy, even though he had been so devoted to him. He feared the machinations of the shadowy power behind this war for independence.

She understood why he had his fears for the Major – both Billy and Nathaniel knew of their heritages and had readily accepted them. George had expressed surprise that Benjamin knew of his heritage, but had utterly rejected it and instead, devoted himself solely to George and the cause – essentially willing to become his sword – and shield if her husband's reports on his defense from Charles Lee's machinations were anything to go by. Nathaniel and Billy were also devoted to the cause, but they had already been part of the Assassin Brotherhood, but had left it after the purge by Shay Cormac back during the Seven Years War. They had the awareness of what it meant, the shadowy hints of machinations and ulterior motives. George feared that Benjamin did not and perhaps foolishly rushed in to offer his aide and skills to him. Though Martha knew that her husband held no such ulterior motives, there was still that perceived fear behind George's actions. She had been right earlier – George wanted to be liked by everyone, and feared that rejection.

She and Billy stood in amicable silence for the last few notes of the dance before clapping in polite applause as it ended and Martha watched as the young officer led Miss Shippen to her cadre of friends that included her sister Betsy and socialite Becky Redman. That was when Martha decided to find out a little more about the young officer whom her husband had taken under his wing. She wanted to very much understand why Nathaniel was so excited in his letters to her when Tallmadge had arrived at Morristown two years ago.

Billy shadowed her as was his custom as she walked the few steps towards the small circle and inclined her head in greeting at the now slightly reserved and still shocked expressions the elder Miss Shippen and Miss Redman wore. _That_ , had been a wonderful trick she had played amongst the women and she had seen George silently laugh at it – finding humor in such a fete that neither one of them quite wanted to attend, but had to because of their social statuses.

"Miss Shippen," she addressed the beautiful Peggy Shippen, "do you mind if I borrow the young man whom you've danced with so wonderfully just a few minutes ago?"

Peggy shook her head, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she demurred, "Of course, Mrs. Washington." There were still some visible puffy streaks around her eyes and Martha was momentarily struck by concern. Why would Peggy be crying in such a lavish ball? However, she caught a nervous look that Betsy shot at her sister and then back at Tallmadge and realized that something must have happened between the two for the elder Shippen to be nervous around her younger sister. Betsy had not wanted Tallmadge to leave, hoping to use him as an excuse to not face Peggy, but with Martha's arrival and request, there was no other answer that could have been given.

"Ma'am," Tallmadge seemed oblivious to what had happened and instead, sketched a short polite bow to the women before holding his arm out to her. Martha took it and discreetly led him away, noting the slight surprise in his expression when they did not return to the dance floor and instead, stepped a bit away from the Shippen daughters and Becky Redman.

"Ma'am," Billy silently signaled to her that he was leaving her to her privacy and fell back two paces from them, earning a slight confused glance from Tallmadge to Billy before the young officer focused back on her.

"I never got the chance to thank you during my last visit to camp," Martha started and saw the confusion deepen before she clarified, "I visited George during the army's stay at Valley Forge in the winter."

"Oh," Tallmadge looked a little less nervous, "I had been sent away, ma'am. Troop count and foraging for supplies. I did not realize that you had requested to see me-"

"I always make it a point to see all of my husband's officers. To ensure their wellness, their health, and anything that they would require," she interrupted him gently, "George puts a lot of demands on his officers. I only ensure that if there are any such complaints, that they'd be brought to me so I can chastise him properly as a good wife is supposed to do."

"M-Ma'am," she smiled a little at the blush that appeared on Tallmadge's face. It certainly proved all of George's letters correct – Tallmadge was very devoted to her husband and would never say ill of him.

She decided to ease his embarrassment, "I worry for him, not only in the manner accustomed a wife to a husband, but in other ways. He sees too much of his brother Lawrence in himself from time to time and his moods will get the best of him. Billy does what he can, where and when he can, but..." She gave a small shrug and glanced up at the young officer who's embarrassment had faded and was now looking at her with a concerned fascination. "Nathaniel took on that role, enabling him to command with ease he may not show otherwise, but since his passing..."

"Ma'am..." she glanced back up at him as she saw the hesitation clear on his expression before it resolved in the manner that she instantly recognized _why_ her husband valued Tallmadge so much. The decisiveness was unlike any other that she had seen and the clear lines of loyalty – hidden in most other officers, including the ones that George favored, behind false smiles and adopted masks of polite society – Tallmadge clearly disliked hiding behind the facade of shadowy secrets. Some might call it irony considering how many secrets Tallmadge must be privy to – but Martha did not. This was a man who refused to play the shadow game of the war between the Templars and Assassins.

"Do you know about...?" he asked and she nodded once. She knew that he was asking whether or not she was privy to the Templars and Assassins and knew of the blood ties between her husband and his brother. "Then do you wish for me to become what Mr. Sackett was to His Excellency?"

She smiled a little and shook her head, "No, Benjamin."

Her answer surprised him as the resolve melted away into one of curious shock.

"George wishes to be liked by everyone," she had teased her husband a few hours ago about this very subject, but it was true. "But in that sense, he will blind himself to aspects that he cannot see. It is not what _I_ wish for you, far be it for me to give you orders, Major, but what _you_ already know what to do. Watch him, protect him like you have always done, be his shield and if necessary, be his sword. He _chose_ you, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, to be his eyes and ears."

She hoped that he received her hidden message and it seemed like he had as his nod of affirmation was much more serious before he seemingly looked to his right. She turned too, to see George and General Arnold walking towards them. Arnold looked to be in better spirits, but just as Tallmadge pulled away to let the two approach her, she saw the slight concern and trepidation in the young officer's eyes. It was directed at General Arnold and Martha knew then that while her husband had seemingly adopted Tallmadge like a son, Tallmadge had already long chosen whom his loyalty was to and was already executing his duties to watch for potential threats around George – and considered the famed General Arnold one of them.

And that comforted Martha more than anything else.

~END~


	23. A Traitor In Our Midst - Story 1

A Traitor in Our Midst

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Story 1 – The Assassination Plot_

 **Summary:**

Post-Episode 8 "Mended" and pre-Mission 1, Benedict Arnold DLC - "Traitor in Our Midst." Ben's interrogation of the Tory prisoners from Stony Point reveal a dangerous second plot that was to be enacted after the death or capture of General Washington – the assassination of Benedict Arnold and capture of Fort Westpoint. Washington reluctantly contacts Connor to prevent such a thing from happening.

 **Story:**

* * *

Ben suppressed a shiver from the early spring thaw. He shifted his feet, hoping to warm himself by continuing to move around. He knew he could have stood by the warm fire that was crackling next to the house that they were using as a waypoint, but Ben wanted to be able to see Connor's approach. And it meant from anywhere. There was the safety risk of having the Continental Army's Commander-in-Chief out here, with only two of his lifeguard, two of his aide-de-camps – Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette – and Billy, but Ben was mostly certain that this rendezvous spot was not compromised.

Connor had said that it belonged to one of the allies of the Brotherhood who housed some of the convoys coming and going to Davenport Manor and after the initial scouting that Ben and Caleb had done, it proved true. Said owner was currently helping them brush down their horses after their arrival. He was a weathered old man who had sharp keen eyes, but proved his trustworthiness by only taking their horses and not even saying a single word.

"Do ya think Connor'll come?" Caleb asked, bring Ben out of his thoughts as he glanced over to see him absently fiddling with his custom flintlock that he had taken from Sackett's barn a little over a year ago. The weapon had served Caleb well from the stories that he had heard from him.

"I hope so," Ben rubbed his hands against the slight chill in the air. This year's winter was clinging like a burr to the changing of spring weather. But he did not mind it as much as he was still flush with the victory in taking over Stony Point and also of the interrogation that yielded the latest actionable intelligence. The only issue was that he could not undertake such a mission, as his name and reputation was starting to be known throughout No-Man's Land – this latest victory at Stony Point was sure to garner more attention.

Plus they needed someone who was familiar with the land and Westpoint was near the Iroquois Confederacy territories if not bordering it. Ben and his 2nd Light had seen combat patrols through Westchester, but he had been confined to that region and rarely went northward due to the Tory and British military presence that occupied his attention at that time. When Ben had proposed sending a message to Connor, Washington had been extremely reluctant, even after Ben had told him of their meeting at Moodna Creek. But his commander had eventually relented and sent the message. Neither one of them expected Connor to answer the missive, but Ben held out a small amount of optimism for the Assassin.

Caleb had been the one to deliver the letter to a drop point in York City. He claimed that on his way out to Oyster Bay after Abe had refused to be broken out of Sugar Hill, a helpful lass by the name of Dobby Carter had come to his aid to avoid the patrols and to get out of the city. He had followed that with the fact that it did not help that Carter had tried to kill him first for acting like a somewhat suspicious redcoat officer poking around things. Ben had nearly groaned in exasperation from that comment, reminding him greatly of what Caleb had done under Abe's orders to the elder Townsend afterwards. He still could not believe what had happened, but was mollified by the bruise on his friend's nose and the fact that it had been Townsend who had thrown it. It seemed the Ring was back and amends had been made.

Ben could only hope that this plea for Connor's help would make amends on that front. Assassin goals or not, Connor was a stalwart ally and a boon, but Ben knew that if their alliance was to be renewed, the other man would have conditions. Ben had his own conditions too, but he was willing to let Connor speak his piece first since he was the wronged party. Hamilton was already familiar with Connor as was the Marquis de Lafayette. Billy was there not only because he was Washington's manservant, but out of all of them – including Washington's lifeguards, he had actual Assassin training under Nathaniel Sackett. Ben felt that his own skills did not count nor compared to the hidden lethality he knew Billy possessed. The somewhat frightening thought was that Billy hid it so well that when Washington had ordered him to discreetly train with Billy after Monmouth last year, he had not realized how _good_ Billy was. It proved how unassuming he was at just playing his part of Washington's servant. Billy was the last line of defense in case Connor decided to use this meeting for revenge, but Ben was hoping it would not come to that.

It was why he was also walking around the area – he wanted to be the first to encounter Connor and ascertain his intentions before even letting him get near Washington. A quick glance back to where Washington and the others were told him Billy was doing the same, albeit in a smaller, tighter circle. Connor's letter only indicated the day in which he was agreeable to meet Washington, but not the hour. They had arrived early in the morning, having set out before the sun had risen in camp. Now it was nearing midday and Ben hoped that Connor did not keep them much longer. The early spring thaw, even with winter's hand still clinging onto it, meant that he would be moving the army soon. Whether or not to take back York City or move further south, due to the increased presence of the French Fleet, Ben did not know, but what he knew was that the plot against Arnold had to be stopped this very moment.

He himself still respected the General, but his initial giddiness had waned since the General had all but disparaged his comments for the lavish ball he had thrown. Ben had initially wanted to apologize, but he followed his instincts and listened carefully, hearing about Washington's approval for Arnold's court martial, reading the charges and expenditures to him, amongst other things about his character. Like Sackett's death had taken the initial romantic notions of espionage from him, this new information about Arnold had done the same. But he would not, could not fault the fact that Arnold was one of their best commanders and they needed to do everything to ensure that he survived.

"He seemed a bit friendlier than the last time, though in a nice shiny stabby kind of way," Caleb commented in an off-hand manner and Ben only rolled his eyes at his friend's comments. Still he could not help the smile that appeared on his face at the small joke that was said.

"What," Caleb smiled back, "you know it's true. Every time I see him, he's cutting through lobsterbacks like wet parchment."

"Not all Assassins are like that," Ben started, but then made a face, "okay, most of them are like that."

"Yeah, except you. You just end up shooting through them like wet parchment," Caleb slapped him playfully on the shoulder as Ben sighed and nearly groaned.

"Caleb..."

"Just kidding Benny-boy," his best friend said, "not gonna lie though. We keep handing you musket after musket, and you'd probably do it."

Ben acknowledged his friend's words with a shrug. "I suppose..." he knew Caleb wasn't wrong in his assessment, but Ben also did not like to brag about his skills that had been handed down to him and Samuel through their father. He still regretted the fact that he had missed Liam Griffith and instead, only downed Alexander Mayfield during their escape attempt after Monmouth.

The distant neigh of a horse down one of the paths leading to the house stopped Caleb from making another comment. Ben put a hand on the butt of his pistol as Caleb did not even bother and drew his out, his finger brushing the trigger that would send forth a spring-loaded bayonet hidden underneath his custom pistol. A few seconds later, Ben relaxed a little at the familiar sight of Connor riding towards them.

He noted that the Assassin's outfit nearly blended him among the brown of tree bark, and it was only the movement of his horse and the fact that his hood was pulled down that Ben had been able to spot him. He supposed that was the point seeing that Connor had on a tan-colored coat with the light blue trimmings that denoted French colors instead of the dark blues of Continentals. He wondered if the Marquis de Lafayette had furnished Connor with his new outfit. He had seen the two conversing in low tones after Monmouth which indicated that the two knew each other. Lafayette had also been vocal in his agreement with his proposal to give the mission to Connor after he had suggested it. It was not that he was jealous, but rather hoped that with Lafayette here, Connor would see reason and accept the mission instead of outright rejecting it since it would be Washington who proposed it. If that was the case, Ben was glad that the Frenchman was here.

"Connor," Ben raised his hand in greeting and got a silent nod in return as the Assassin pulled his horse up next to him and dismounted. Ben grabbed the reigns of his horse for him, but did not miss the sheer amount of weaponry that had been exposed under the longcoat Connor wore. A tomahawk was hidden underneath, his sword visibly on his waist, but what surprised him the most was the unusual looking pistol that held three barrels, more than likely allowing for three shots at once and Connor wore two of them on him. He also noted the small pouches, one of which made for a curious sound when knocked a little that sounded like miniature cannon balls. He also noted the small thin rope-like daggers that hung more towards his back and small hollow-pointed needle-like contraptions that he knew from his father's toolset were poison darts. He also noted the bow and pack of arrows on Connor's back. All of this and Ben knew that the deadliest of all of the weapons was not even visible – the hidden blade on one of his forearms; hidden beneath layers of clothing.

"I hope we did not interrupt a mission of import," he said lightly as he led Connor's horse, and saw the Assassin give him an arched, but neutral look. Connor knew that he had seen the large amount of weaponry on him.

"Your Commander always summons me to do his dirty work for him," the native Assassin replied a little icily, "it's best to come prepared."

"You're not wrong about that," Ben shot a dark look at Caleb's quiet reply, but blinked a little in surprise at the sudden brief smile that appeared on Connor's lips. He shook his head inwardly – at least Caleb and Connor found some kind of neutral ground. He was also proud of his best friend to elicit some kind of reaction other than cool indifference from the reticent, somewhat-volatile Assassin.

As they approached Washington, Ben nodded once to signal to the others that Connor had no intentions of attacking and out of the corner of his eye saw the native give him an unreadable look before quickening his footsteps. Lafayette and Hamilton stepped back to give him room to talk to Washington in semi-privacy, but Ben was glad to see Billy hang a little closer – both as his duties as a servant, and also as Washington's closest bodyguard. The two members of his lifeguard kept their attentions faced outward for any visible threats beyond the small circle that they made.

Ben walked Connor's horse just a little closer than the circle Lafayette and Hamilton made, enabling to hear what was happening, but not enough that he was considered an intruder or eavesdropping on their conversation. The horse whickered and made nibbling movements towards his helm to which he pulled out of the way of its teeth and instead, patted it absently on the cheek.

"How dare you call on me after Monmouth," Connor's voice had not risen, but it contained a lot of disdain and anger in it.

Ben watched as his Commander-in-Chief only frowned before handing him a small piece of paper, "I have no one else to turn to."

Connor took the paper and broke the seal, scanning the contents quickly as Washington continued, his voice neutral and giving no hint of any emotion. "The intelligence that's been gathered warned me that Westpoint has been infiltrated. I believe that they intend to murder Major General Benedict Arnold."

Connor folded the paper back up, "I still do not see why you need me."

"The loss of such a figure, would be devastating to the cause," Washington looked rather reluctant before Ben caught a look directed at him. He frowned as he also saw Connor glancing at him before the two resumed their conversation with each other. "It must be done without my soldiers' knowledge."

It hit Ben then the hidden reason why Washington had not given him such an assignment. In his capacity as head of intelligence, he was able to conceal a few things, but Congress needed his reports along with that of Washington's and since he was a military commander, he had to file reports on every single one of his actions. The one to assassinate Reverend Worthington had been labeled an accident, but his injuries sustained by Gamble's shot had been recorded as part of military scouting.

"The mere idea of the Patriots being breached would be crippling to morale, to the war," Washington continued, "will you do it?"

Ben held his breath, watching Connor closely. If he said no, then Ben knew that he would have to take some kind of action regarding the intelligence they had gotten from the interrogated soldiers from the Stony Point raid. It would have to be listed as part of a military report and it would make Washington's efforts to stop the assassin or assassins from killing Arnold a lot harder. For one thing, Ben would have to go in disguise again, but the stakes would be infinitely higher – the area around Fort Westpoint was heavily contested territory and the latest reports from Colonel Jamieson said that the Tory 'Cowboys' and Patriot 'Skinners' were far more vicious than those of the contested territory in Westchester. It would be an extremely dangerous mission for Ben. It was not fear that prevented him from accomplishing his mission, but rather the lack of skills needed to do such a thing.

It seemed Connor came to the same conclusion or some conclusion as he leaned in towards Washington, a little closer than Ben liked – but Billy made no movement – so Ben forced himself to relax, and hissed, "It will be done. But _never_ call on me again."

With that, the Assassin abruptly turned and stalked towards Ben. He quickly stepped to the side as Connor swept up the reigns of his horse into his hand and with one fluid movement, mounted the beast and kicked off, heading away from them at a gallop.

"Well," Caleb ambled over and absently flicked the spring-loaded bayonet on his pistol out, "that went rather well."

Ben could only nod in mute agreement. At least Connor was amenable to helping Washington one last time.

~END~


	24. A Traitor In Our Midst - Story 2

A Traitor in Our Midst

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Story 2 – The Road to Treachery_

 **Summary:**

Season 3, Episode 9 "Blade on the Feather" and fusion of Mission 3 – Benedict Arnold DLC "A Spy Among Us." Robert Rogers finds an uncommon ally in Connor in his quest for vengeance against John Andre, while Connor finds that Rogers knows a little more than he's letting on and that their pasts intersect.

 **Story:**

* * *

There had only been two times Connor could remember sleeping so deeply that nothing could seemingly wake him. One was when he had first arrived at Achilles' house after driving off the bandits that sought to steal from him. The other was in a very blurred memory in his mother's arms. She had been singing a lullaby of sorts and he remembered falling asleep to the sound of her voice, the smells of burning firewood, and the warmth that protected against winter's chill. Ever since those two times, Connor always slept lightly – even more so now than ever before. His Assassin instincts, honed through the years of training and the war, made him a very light sleeper and so when the distinct whistle of cannon-shot sailed through the air Connor's eyes were already snapping open of their own accord and he sat up from the tree branch he had nestled himself into for the night.

He immediately turned his head towards the sound and saw in the half-moonlit darkness the shape of an anchored ship in the distance, before the cannon ball landed with a loud splashing sound near it. Connor blinked – that ship had not been there when he had fallen asleep and must have only arrived recently. Several more cannon shots whistled in the air as they landed near the ship. He could see the distant forms of sailors scurrying about its rafters, hastily untying the sails and the ship rocking about, coming around to sail back down river.

The clouds parted for a moment, letting the full moonlight shine on the ship and Connor raised a silent eyebrow in surprise at the sight of the ship's British colors before the moonlight waned. What was a British ship doing up here so close to the fort? He had seen the chains that ran across the length of the Hudson River, the smaller Patriot-held fortifications that dotted the area. He had heard from the soldiers stationed at the Fort that the British sometimes sent ships up to see if the chain could be broken, but no ship dared to go that close to the chains for fear of ruining their ships.

He wondered if the ships were related to the mission Washington had given him – to hunt down the assassins who would end General Arnold's life. The General himself was a boorish man, dismissive and prone to a volatile temper that even Connor disliked. But he had accepted the mission and had spent the last few months hunting down the assassins. There had been four in total, and the last one had been killed within the main fort itself. It had drawn Arnold's attention and that was when Connor had met the famous General. He had not explained his mission about Washington sending him, but rather made allusions to a plot against his life. Arnold had taken it with more stoic countenance than Connor had initially given him credit for, but any goodwill he had developed for the man shattered when Arnold requested that he help around the fort and had even expected him to do so without any complaint.

Connor had been close to turning around and telling the man no before heading back to the Homestead – having been away from it for far too long, especially after receiving some news about the Old Man's condition – but stayed because he needed to be sure that there would be no more assassins sent after the General. He had considered just letting Arnold die just to spite Washington, but when Washington had made his request, the fact that Tallmadge had been there made Connor pause. It seemed like Tallmadge had made the initial suggestion to his commander before Washington decided to bring him in, and for that Connor was somewhat reluctant to help.

To him, Tallmadge was a fool who would not let go what had already been gone, but he would not fault the man in charge of Washington's intelligence for being dogged in his pursuit of his goals. He had also clearly understood the significance of the look Washington had shot at his head of intelligence when he had been giving Connor the mission. If Connor had not agreed, then Tallmadge would have been sent. He had no qualms about the man's abilities, but he also knew that the man would not be able to easily ferret out the assassins. It was a question of skill and while Tallmadge had skills in other areas, hunting a prey as deft as an assassin was definitely not one of them. So he had taken the mission.

Connor watched as a few more shots rang out before he decided to see what had happened at the northern outpost to warrant so much cannon fire. Pushing himself from the branch, he landed onto the ground in a crouch and stood up. The mild summer weather had given way to an early fall and the cold was already nipping at him. He headed silently towards the Continental outpost that was nearby, keeping to the scrub and evergreen bushes that dotted the landscape. The Continentals had somewhat accepted his presence here at the Westpoint area, and were not prone to attack him, but he knew that they viewed him with suspicion. Ever since the disaster with the perceived attack on his tribe a little over a year ago, the region had cautious contact with the other members of the Confederacy.

Most of his brothers and sisters fought for the British, but there were one or two tribes that fought for the Continentals. He understood their worry even though he had pleaded with the tribes to stay out of the war. So he stayed in the shadows of the brush, not wanting to draw attention to himself in the dead of night.

He arrived at the outpost in short order, abandoning the low ground for the comfort of the high branches that dotted the area and perched on one that was still leaf covered. One of the larger branches extended out towards the small officer's hut that was situated in the area and he climbed out onto the limb, curious to see three so-called Continentals, 'skinners' being the term for the motley garb they wore, arguing unsuccessfully with the ranking Colonel who was still buttoning up his uniform – having clearly been awakened in the middle of the night. The soldiers manning the garrison's cannons were cheering and pointing to the British ship that was sailing away.

"You've done your duty now get out of here," the Colonel – Jameson if Connor remembered correctly – seemed annoyed and waved his hand at them. Connor could see that the men were not too happy, but nonetheless complied and headed away from the camp.

"Arnold's not going to like this," he heard Jameson mutter as he turned back to head to his hut, shivering against the night's chill, "and Washington will demote me when he comes here and finds out..."

Connor had to admit that he was not surprised to find out Washington was arriving. He supposed that the lack of contact he had with the commander of the Continentals since he had accepted the mission may have troubled him. But he also thought that with Arnold more than likely sending Washington reports, the other man would have realized that his beloved General was still alive. Nonetheless, it was not his problem as he decided to follow the three skinners that had reported the appearance of the British ship.

Skinners were not exactly soldiers, but they did help the Continental cause. They were more highwaymen than soldiers and Connor had a few run-ins with them while he had been hunting down Arnold's assassins. One of which had been a skinner. Another had been in Jameson's camp – which made him suspicious of the man – one in one of the regular Continental patrols, and the last one was clearly a messenger between the various outposts who had taken advantage of his status to try to get close to Arnold.

All of them had died without telling him who had hired them and that had frustrated Connor the most.

The fact that the three skinners had been able to see the British ship and actively report it made him suspicious. Was there to be a fifth plot against Arnold? He followed the three silently until he spotted them pausing, seemingly skulking and saw ahead of them a rough-looking man who had a scruff of a beard, and a sharp demeanor about him. Connor crouched on branch he was on as the man peered through his spyglass towards the departing British warship, seemingly not even paying attention to them.

"You can come out now," the man suddenly said, his voice rolling with the droll of an Irishman, not quite as heavy as Connor had heard in parts of Boston, but distinct.

Connor watched as the skinners moved, hesitant, wary, but all with frowns on their faces.

" _You too, little tree-hopper_ ," Connor nearly fell off of the branch as he heard the man speak in his native tongue, and stared. He saw the heavy-set man look up at him, before winking, clearly indicating that he could see him. Connor frowned and reluctantly pushed himself off of the branch. He landed in a crunch of leaves, startling the skinners. The three whirled around, muskets twitching in their hands before the heavy-set Irishman held up his hands.

"Now, now, no need to get so twitchy lads," he said and Connor saw the skinners look between the two of them.

Connor stood up, holding his hands outwards, showing that he was not going to provoke them and saw them lower their muskets a little. They were still wary, but Connor did not blame them. He instead, addressed his next words to the heavy-set man, "You saw me."

"Aye, I did," the man replied, "Robert Rogers at your service, tree-hopper."

"Connor," he said, but instead of nodding and accepting his name, the man – Rogers – shook his head, a wolfish smile on his face.

"No, that's the name for a white man. What's your real name, boy?"

One of Connor's eyebrows rose in surprise. Rogers was proving to be a very interesting man. Almost with the hint of lethal grace he had seen in Haytham, but otherwise had the same affable nature. He had heard of Robert Rogers, both within the Continentals and outside of it. Rogers had been a legend among his people, having taken time to study their methods of hunting and using it to great effect in the war against the French around the time Connor had been born. He was considered 'friend' among some of the more war-like tribes that made up the Iroquois Confederacy, but his own tribe, the Haudenosaunee had been decidedly neutral towards Rogers. Connor had not understood why until he had met his father and realized he was a Templar. Considering how his mother was treated by the rest of the tribe from time to time – he was well aware that his mother shielded him from a lot of it – he was not surprised that Rogers' name and reputation was considered neutral by his tribesmen.

Still, it was not every day that a white man refused to call him by the name he had given to them and so decided to humor Rogers. "Ratonhnhaké:ton," he said, wondering if Rogers was going to give up like Achilles had and instead use Connor.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Rogers' pronunciation was a little mangled, but Connor was mildly surprised at how _well_ it had been, "good name. Strong name, has history behind it, but that's a story for another time, eh, boy?"

"Perhaps," Connor inclined his head once as Rogers focused his gaze on the three skinners who were still looking a little surly.

"Time to pay up," one of the skinners spoke up, resting his musket on his shoulder, "you said if we reported the ship you spotted to the Continentals, we'd be paid. Well, we ain't paid and we want our money."

"You'll get your money soon enough," Rogers turned from them and peered through his spyglass again, the wolfish smile back on his face, "you've just made an investment in your future boys."

"Come again?"

"That ship that just left? Well, he left his most precious cargo. Treasure, lads, treasure," Rogers said as he shut his spyglass and turned back to face them. The heavy-set man gestured to him with his chin, "That treasure also might hold the answers you've been looking for."

Connor stared at him, skeptical.

"You find that treasure, a man with really fancy boots and who looks so out of place, you bring him to Jameson unharmed and I can guarantee that you will get paid. Go on now," Rogers waved his hand at the skinners who seemed to mull over his deal before reluctantly moving away. He met their suspicious stares with a steady gaze of his own before it was just him and Rogers left.

" _When I first arrived, I heard rumors of what happened to some of the skinners and Continentals here. Didn't realize that it was one of your kind, and I mean it in both your kind as in natives and that_ other _kind, was active here_ ," Rogers started in his people's language and Connor's eyes narrowed. Did Rogers know about the war between the Templars and Assassins?

" _I worked with a few back in the day. Never really picked a side, but seen both sides go at it from time to time. Nasty, ugly business this war you've been fighting since time immemorial. But, I know enough not to interfere in a hunt,_ " the other man shook his head and held up his hands, " _if you're still looking for answers to your hunt, I am sure the man that ship abandoned can provide you with answers_."

Connor was sure that that Rogers knew of the war, but it seemed was wise enough not to get himself heavily involved. In a way, it reminded him of Tallmadge, who knew of the war, but wanted no involvement. But it seemed Rogers was a little more mercenary than the altruism Tallmadge had showed. He knew that the man had lead the Queen's Rangers before being replaced by a Captain Jonathan Graves Simcoe, and the Rangers themselves were sworn to money. Judging by how these skinners reacted to Rogers and the promise of payment, Rogers had used their mercenary ways to cajole them into finding the so-called lost 'treasure' that the ship had left behind. Still, he was rather impressed with Rogers' demeanor and insistence on speaking to him in his tribe's language – even though it was somewhat mangled.

"I am sorry Ratonhnhaké:ton for what happened to your village _,"_ Rogers switched back to English, his voice neutral, but expression grim, "your people do not deserve to be held by either side of this war for supporting the safety of your people. But I can tell you, that man, the one holding the answers. You take him to Washington, he will remove him as a potential threat to your goals. Might lead you to one of your other goals too, if I heard rumors correctly."

Connor stiffened. He had been putting out the word that he was searching for Charles Lee since his court martial last year. It stood to reason that perhaps Rogers had heard of those rumors, but how would he know unless- "You've met the person left here before," he stated and saw Rogers smile a little.

"Aye," the man nodded once, his smile a little predatory, "and it was a well-met meeting indeed. But why tell you everything when you can find out on your own." He looked towards the direction the skinners had left in, "Better hurry, boy, those skinners. They're in for the coin, but they do get jumpy at times."

Connor only snorted and started to climb up the same tree he had perched on. He would be able to catch up to skinners in no time, but Rogers had a point. Men who fought for only coin and were not promised coin tended to be more volatile. If the skinners decided that whomever had been left on the shore by the British ship was not worth the money, then Connor would not get the answers he wanted.

"If you do find him, boy, please let him know Robert Rogers says a cheery 'hello'," he heard Rogers speak up as he disappeared into the leafy tree tops.

~END~


	25. A Traitor In Our Midst - Story 3

A Traitor in Our Midst

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Story 3 – Allies in Arms_

 **Summary:**

Season 3, Episode 9 "Blade on the Feather" and the beginning part of Mission 4 – Benedict Arnold DLC "The Battle of Westpoint." As Ben realizes General Arnold's treachery, he and Connor race to stop him. However, it seems Arnold's paid men off with what little coin he has left to stop pursuit and make good on his escape.

 **Story:**

* * *

The man had identified himself as one John Anderson. Connor did not believe for one single second, it was not an assumed name. But the documents he carried made no other mention of any other name and so Connor had to content himself with watching the man like a hawk as he and the three Patriot skinners escorted Mr. Anderson back to Jameson's outpost. The documents that Anderson had upon his persons were puzzling in nature. The pass from General Arnold he understood, but the other document – detailed plans for Fort Westpoint? That made Connor uneasy.

For one thing, he walked as if he had been _bred to arms_ a term that Connor had not learned until the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord. Revere, for all of his loud-mouthed shouting had helped him evade a few patrols during their midnight ride across the countryside. He had spotted officers that were dressed in civilian clothing – ostensibly for off-duty purposes, but officers nonetheless. Revere said that militiamen, but more so British-trained military men had a gait of sorts that showed whenever they walked. Connor had taken the time after the battles to watch the coming and goings of the British holed up in Boston before they had evacuated and saw that indeed – officers could be easily identified in civilian clothing from the way they walked. But the same could be said for some Continentals, especially those like Washington or any of his higher ranked Generals.

Achilles had made mention that it was the lack of the so-called _bred to arms_ that allowed Assassins to easily blend into crowds. But he also cautioned that some Templars had the ability too – case in point, his father Haytham. Assassin-trained, Templar-raised, he knew the skills in and out and what the Brotherhood utilized.

Connor had a feeling that Mr. Anderson was an officer, but he could not confirm his suspicions without coming across as suspicious to the skinners – thereby making them more liable to shoot him. They were already uneasy with his presence and he had heard more than one derogatory muttering to each other as they had escorted Anderson back to the outpost. He could have easily subdue them and then demand his answers out of Anderson, but Connor knew that any sign of bodies, any indication that there was a fight or even the discharge of a musket, would send the whole region on high alert. It would have made his mission a lot harder.

The Continentals readily controlled the various outposts and riverside forts that made up Fort Westpoint, but they did not control the paths that led to each outpost. That was neutral territory and crawling with hostilities from both skinners and cowboys. He knew that the skinners were more familiar with this part of the land and had a semblance of organization among themselves, which put him at a disadvantage. No, Connor knew he had to be patient – the business with this Mr. Anderson would sort itself out. If there was a fifth assassination plot against General Arnold, he would ferret out the man's secrets in due time.

But his current attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation between Jameson and Anderson was proving fruitless. For one thing, Anderson seemed reluctant to talk about whatever familiarity or knowledge he may have imparted from General Arnold. He was also prone to talking about nonsensical things. Nothing overt to indicate whether or not there was a fifth plot against Arnold and it seemed Jameson was content to let the matter be. The officer had not seemed inclined to accept the fact that there had been an assassin hiding among his own division here at the outpost, ready to assassinate the General should he happen by after his first inspection of the fort itself. In fact, he seemed rather disinterested – which made Connor suspicious. Was Jameson and this man Anderson in collusion against Arnold?

Connor had rifled through the man's reports as best as he could whenever he was not inspecting troops or sitting at his desk to write said reports, but they held no information. They were not even written in any code he could decipher. He knew that something was amiss, but could not place what it was and it was starting to frustrate him. Achilles' lessons in patience was grinding at him and Connor was starting to wish that he had not agreed to undertake this mission for Washington months ago. He wanted to go back to the Homestead to check on the Old Man, to make sure that he was comfortable and in relative good health. He was not blind to the fact that Achilles was getting old and age had finally caught up to him.

He supposed that his only consolation was that Washington was arriving soon – though there was no confirmation of a date of sorts. Connor did not want to wait at the main fort with the odious General Arnold, but he knew that once Washington made his presence known he would tell him that he was done with his mission and to leave the rest to Tallmadge and go home. Connor felt frustrated and exhausted and there was no new lead of any kind he could extract from the mysterious Anderson – even though Robert Rogers had obliquely mentioned it. He was beginning to suspect that Rogers just wanted him to do his dirty work – much like every person who had seen him and knew of his skills.

The neigh of a horse coming down one of the paths to the outpost pulled Connor out of his dark thoughts as he looked up from where he was hidden in the shrubbery to see the familiar blue and gold uniform of Major Tallmadge arriving. Washington must have arrived already if Tallmadge was here, Connor surmised just as the door to the cabin that was Jameson's office opened and closed. The daily messenger that ran reports between the outposts to give to Arnold seemed unhurried and unconcerned.

"Ah," he heard Tallmadge exclaim as he saw him side step the messenger, "those must be the reports to General Arnold, right?"

"Yes sir," the messenger nodded, briefly knuckling his forehead in a quick salute.

"Hmm...kind of a waste of time," Tallmadge muttered mostly under his breath, but Connor caught the man's words with his sharp hearing and frowned.

"Sir?" the messenger looked confused.

"No, nothing, go about your business. I'll get a verbal report from Jameson," Tallmadge easily dismissed the young messenger and Connor's suspicions rose again. If the reports were being sent to Arnold – which meant that Washington was probably staying at the main outpost and also receiving the same reports – why would Tallmadge be here? And even comment on the redundancy of his own presence?

Something did not add up.

He saw Tallmadge enter, the door closing behind him before the sounds of introduction were met and some other words exchanged. Anderson's sonorous voice spoke up in polite greeting, though there was a strain of sorts that Connor heard – much different than the genial conversation he had been having with Jameson earlier. Connor stood up from where he had been hiding and moved to the corner of the small cabin as the door opened and both Tallmadge and Jameson stepped out, Tallmadge with an intense urgent look on his face. Connor caught the quick, but subtle flicker of surprise on the other man's face at his sudden presence, but it seemed Tallmadge had mastered himself to not react in an overt fashion. He could not help the sudden small swell of pride at how fast Tallmadge seemed to be learning since they had last met. The man was not even a fully trained Assassin, yet was learning quickly about the craft in his own way.

"...tell me something, sir. Did it not occur to you that one of the skinners over there was wearing royal officer's boots? And that he had come in wearing nothing but his stockings?" Tallmadge asked in a quiet hiss.

Jameson's face seemed paler than usual, his eyes wide with growing astonishment, "S-Sir...I...I have to tell you that p-plans of Westpoint were found on his persons...signed by General Arnold himself..."

Connor stiffened as an immediate change came over Tallmadge's posture. Gone was the suspicious urgency in which he had talked and dread was quickly replacing it. Connor looked back and forth between the two Continentals – Tallmadge knew something that none of them did before the man suddenly stabbed Jameson with a finger hard in the shoulder.

" _Keep_ him here," he hissed, "he is not to leave camp until I or General Washington sends for him."

Without even a second word, Tallmadge brushed past the startled officer and headed straight for his horse. Connor pushed himself off of the corner of the cabin and hurried towards the young dragoon.

"Tallmadge," he called out and saw him swing up on his horse, not even bothering with his helm.

"Lieutenant, give that man your horse," Tallmadge ordered curtly to two officers passing by with their horses. The officer blinked once and looked like he was going to protest giving Connor his horse, but with an icy glare from Tallmadge, reluctantly handed him the reigns and Connor took them.

"We need to get back to the main outpost. General Arnold is a traitor and a spy," Tallmadge sounded livid and the roiling unease that had been plaguing Connor for the last few months since he had arrived at Fort Westpoint resolved itself into a clarity that made sense. He nodded once as he mounted the horse and spurred it, quickly following Tallmadge away from the area.

It made perfect sense now, the assassination attempts, Arnold's dismissal of said attempts on his life – four times no less. He must have hired those assassins himself to make it look like he was being targeted while keeping his other activities under cover. He also probably had not expected Washington to send someone like himself – someone who could easily foil an attempt. Arnold must have met or somehow gave plans to the mysterious John Anderson, still sitting in Jameson's cabin, under the cover of cannon fire last night. But it seemed that while Arnold might have tried to neutralize his interference by pretending that there were more plots against his life so that he would be focused elsewhere, he had not counted on Tallmadge's intuition or suspicions to investigate himself instead of relying on reports.

And now...they had a traitor to stop.

* * *

Ben could feel that something was wrong, something that made him uneasy as he and Connor rode through the heavily wooded and hilly area that made up this part of contested territory. In his initial ride, he had been aware of the fact that both cowboys and skinners, Tory and Patriot-leaning bandits, were roaming the area, but they had not made their presence known. Now, as he and Connor rode back, he could not help but feel that they were riding into an ambush. He did not know what made him feel that way, but a niggling sixth sense of sorts – the same one that warned him of someone watching him during the winter days in Wethersfield – told him otherwise.

That sense resolved itself as Ben abruptly pulled on the reigns of his horse, the beast whickering and neighing in displeasure at being manhandled in such a rough fashion. He heard Connor do the same as they both halted a few feet away from a small group of men dressed in a motley assortment of colors standing in the middle of the road. It _was_ an ambush.

"Major Tallmadge I presume?" what he assumed was more than likely the leader of the group spoke up, shouldering his rifle a little.

"You are in Patriot-held territory, sir. This is considered part of Fort Westpoint and-" he started, but stopped at the mirthless smile that appeared on the man's face as he shook his head.

"We know. And no one else ain't coming, Major," the man replied, "the gold we've got...well..."

He realized that the men weren't Tory cowboys at all, but rather Patriot skinners that had been paid off to either ambush or distract him. Ben narrowed his eyes as anger started to fill him. "You are impeding the apprehension of a traitor to the cause-" he stopped again at the movement of the man's rifle, watching it swing from his shoulder to his hand where he tapped it in obvious warning.

"Tallmadge..." out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor pull his horse in front of his own, half shielding his view of the skinner – or rather now Tory cowboy as he thought of them for taking such a bribe from either Arnold or Andre – and seemingly protecting him.

"Connor-"

"Tallmadge," the Assassin stated again before gesturing with his eyes downward.

"You being friendly with natives now, Major?" the skinner leader crowed, but Ben ignored him and discreetly looked in the direction that Connor had indicated and saw the three-barreled pistols Connor wore on the back of his weapons belt. And he had an excellent unobstructed access to them based on Connor's movement.

"I cannot protect you," Ben warned the Assassin under his breath as he understood what Connor wanted him to do. The Assassin apparently had heard of his skill with rifles and guns and so thought it would be prudent for him to use the weapons he had with him to great effect. Ben thought otherwise – with Connor in front of him, it covered his actions, but as soon as he drew the pistols and fired, the others would not hesitate to fire back – and Connor being in front of him would take the musket fire for him.

"You need not worry," the Assassin's golden-brown eyes gleamed with a feral nature that Ben remembered seeing the night he and four of his men had been ambushed in the woods by him.

"What are we planning hmm? Grimms, Billy, go relieve the Major and his native friend of their weapons-"

Ben pulled the first three-barreled gun, that looked almost like a duck's webbed foot, and fired it in the face of the two cowboys that had advanced towards them. The gun went off with a tremendous bang, but Ben wasted no time in sliding off of his horse, grabbing the other one off of Connor's belt just as the Assassin lunged from the saddle of his horse towards the nearest soldier, tomahawk extended. There was a faint pinging sound and something seemingly green washed across Connor's form as the others fired at the Assassin, but the balls were seemingly repelled by an unknown force.

Ben rolled onto the ground and came up on one knee before firing the other gun, watching with a small amount of horror as three barrels worth of blunderbuss buckshot blasted into two more soldiers, sending them flying back into the ground. Blood and fleshy matter flew through the air. Ben spat and wiped at his eyes at the blood that got onto him as he wasted no time and scooped up one of the rifles that had been dropped to the ground.

The others scattered and Ben could see Connor lunging at another two, slamming his tomahawk into the face of one before pulling it out and throwing a knife into the gut of another. He finished off the wounded man with a shot from the rifle he borrowed and dropped it. Ben's sixth sense screamed a warning and he ducked, just as the tree behind him splintered from the force of a musket ball. He saw the skinner-turned-cowboy leader hurry to reload as the rest of his men fired at Connor who ducked or used one of their own as human shields.

Ben scrambled across the woody ground and found the other dropped rifle, pulling it from the dead man's hands. He turned, kneeling on the ground as he pulled down on the hammer. He hoped that a ball was already primed in it as he saw the leader bring his rifle to bear on him at the same time he did-

Ben fired, waiting for the sudden bloom of pain to tell him that he had been shot, but as the brief smoke cleared the air, he saw that his shot had been true. The leader's sneering expression was a permanent death mask as he saw that a neat hole had appeared in the middle of his head. The blood had not even started to drip down it as the man crumpled to the ground, dead.

"Tallmadge, go! I got this," Connor shouted, his voice rough with exertion and Ben looked to his left to see the Assassin leaping towards the remaining cowboys, stabbing one in the face as he rolled his body to the ground before coming up in a crouch with his tomahawk extended. It slammed into the thigh of an unfortunate cowboy who screamed in pain before being abruptly silenced by a side blow with a knife in Connor's other hand.

Ben scrambled to his feet and hurried towards his horse who had bolted a little when the shooting had started. Mounting the beast, he spurred it and galloped away. He had no compunctions about leaving Connor, his fears on leaving an ally alone to face so many people quashed with what had just happened. Connor had proven himself time and time again that he was able to handle himself and Ben knew that at this point, he would only be in the Assassin's way as he did his deathly dance with the remaining cowboys. Likewise, he also knew that Connor was letting him apprehend the traitorous Arnold even though it had been he who had undertaken Washington's original mission to protect Arnold.

He had a traitor to catch, and if not, to execute.

* * *

The coins jangled in a small pouch that Connor had found on the former Patriot skinner leader's body. It was British poundage and considering that it was worth more than Continental dollars at the moment, it was clear that these so-called Patriot skinners were far more mercenary than he had given them credit for. They were also proof that Arnold had more than likely used the last of his coinage to bribe these men to stop him and Tallmadge from seeking him as he tried to escape.

He pulled his horse to a trot as he saw the main fort of Westpoint coming up and saw that the guards were on alert. He knew they had to have heard the gunfire in the woods. There was no sign of Tallmadge, nor did he hear any indication of gunfire that would tell him of Arnold's execution, so Connor supposed that either the other man had caught up to the traitorous general and had apprehended him or he had missed him entirely.

"Connor!" he saw the Marquis de Lafayette suddenly step out from the protective walls of the fort, waving a gloved hand at him before he nodded a greeting.

The Marquis waved back as he turned and hurried deeper into the fort. Connor had no doubts that the Frenchman was more than likely notifying Washington of his arrival. The General was the last person that Connor wanted to see, still feeling a little testy for having agreed to undertake the mission – but even more so now that he discovered that there was the potential that it had been Arnold himself who had hired those assassins to kill himself just to throw off any trail of traitorous thoughts or actions.

Connor heeled his horse to a walk as he saw the Marquis return with Washington, Hamilton – another one of Washington's aide-de-camps and whom Connor had met on occasion – and Tallmadge's shadow, a Lieutenant Brewster if he remembered correctly, walking behind him. He could see the grimness on Washington's face as they approached him and knew that Washington had discovered Arnold's treachery.

Connor finally pulled his horse to a halt, just as a lone single report of a gun being fired in the distance echoed across the area. He immediately turned to where the sound had come from – the docks to the river crossing. The shot must have been from Tallmadge, but there was no other sound that indicated he was under fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Washington and the others had also halted, Brewster looking back and forth between him and down the path towards the docks.

Suddenly the red-haired Hamilton broke away from the group and headed back into the fort. A few minutes later, Connor saw the other man ride out, cantering down towards the path where the docks were. Connor considered following him out of curiosity, but did not know why he waited, sitting on his horse in the green grassy grounds that stretched between the fort and the woods.

Minutes passed in silence before Connor first spotted the familiar blue and gold uniform of Tallmadge. His jacket and breeches were covered in flecks of blood from when he had shot the soldiers at close range with his duck-footed pistol, but the man's eyes were bright with anger. Hamilton was riding next to him, a pinched expression on his face and Connor immediately knew that Tallmadge had not been successful in apprehending or killing General Arnold.

Connor spurred his horse to approach the fort once more, timing it so that he arrived at the same time as Tallmadge and Hamilton. The three of them dismounted and Tallmadge immediately bowed his head a little towards Washington.

"I'm sorry to say, sir, that the traitor was able to escape custody," Tallmadge sounded far angrier and more furious than Connor had ever heard him. Something had happened, he realized, something had happened between Tallmadge and Arnold; and along that vein of thought, Connor wondered – had Tallmadge deliberately allowed Arnold to escape?

"I was able to confirm it, sir. Arnold has made good on his escape. He sent this back with the riverboaters he had ordered to row him to the _Vulture_. I've taken the liberty to detain them until they can be questioned, sir," Hamilton produced a small messenger pouch to which Washington took it. Connor could see that the General's expression was as disgusted as ever as he flicked a brief look at him and at Tallmadge.

"I want to know what happened," Washington's voice was quiet, but Connor could hear the furious anger in them. "Connor, Major, please come with me," he spun, his cloak whirling around him as he headed back into the cabin in the main fort.

For a moment, Connor considered not following the order, but pushed it aside and followed Tallmdage in. If Washington wanted to know what had happened, then Connor would tell him plain and simple. The man needed to hear the blunt truth – that it was his own arrogance, his own fault for not heeding the words of the Assassins and others around him that something like this had happened. Arnold was Washington's own mistake. And Washington let it happen.

~END~


	26. A Traitor In Our Midst - Story 4

A Traitor in Our Midst

by: Shadow Chaser

 _Story 4 – The Hanged Man_

 **Summary:**

Season 3, Episode 10 "Trial and Execution" post-Benedict Arnold DLC. Ben and Washington discuss recent events and possible future alliance with Connor. Takes place after the Culper meeting between Anna, Caleb, Ben, and Washington and before André's trial.

 **Story:**

* * *

The glow of embers slowly dying in the fire was oddly soothing in Ben's opinion as he hunched forward and watched one particular spark ebb and flare on its last dying breaths. It looked like it was trying to fight and survive and somehow, Ben wondered if it was a sign of sorts – a sign of the Culper Ring itself. Even with André's capture, the biggest risk now for the ring was that Arnold knew of the name Culper, but still did not know whom he was or where he was located. He had no doubts that Washington's offer of a trade for Arnold was to be denied – hence his impassioned plea mere hours ago to his Commander-in-Chief to set an example with André and hang him as a spy. He knew of the man's request to be shot as an officer, but Ben had no sympathy for him.

The man had eventually confessed to being a part of General Lee's turn as a traitor, though claimed no affiliation or knowledge of a man named Haytham Kenway. That particular question bothered Ben a little more than he liked, but as far as he could tell – there was truth in André's words since he knew he was to be a dead man and had been freely confessing his transgressions.

"There is truth to Major André's words, Tallmadge," Connor's quiet voice spoke up just as the Assassin sat down near him around the small fire. "He has no Templar ties, though he was associated with known Templars."

"Lieutenant Gamble," Ben kept staring at the dying ember, watching it flare brigh t yellow-orange before fading to a red-orange color. "Lee...Hickey, probably a few others."

"He has said as much about Lee's whereabouts and considered him a failure after Monmouth," Connor sounded exhausted and Ben finally pulled his gaze away from the ember to stare at the Assassin. There was no new sign of blood or exertion on him from his questioning of André that he could tell, so he surmised that it must be a mental affliction of sorts.

"I'm sorry," Ben apologized and saw the Assassin snort, shaking his head a little.

"André heard of the Templars and Assassins, but only through associations and business connections. He had no interest and was amenable to telling me what he knew of Lee's whereabouts," Connor offered and Ben blinked, puzzled before it occurred to him what the native meant.

"You mean to say that he and I are alike," he saw the Assassin shoot him a brief look and nod before turning back to stare at the fire.

Ben was about to deny it, but paused, considering his words. There was truth to it, but it seemed that he had come out the victor in this case. Ben had crossed into British territory more than once, both in uniform and out and knew how dangerous it was. He supposed the only advantage he had was that he knew the lay of the land and trusted his instincts and training that his father had instilled in him. In this case, he had been luckier than André who had little to no experience outside of his uniform and going undercover. Connor was right, the two of them knew of the Templars and Assassins, but decided for reasons of their own to only use the resources they provided to some advantage, preferring to fight the war on their own terms. Except André lost.

"Will you stay?" he asked the Assassin after a moment of contemplative silence.

"No," Connor shook his head, "André told me that he last heard that Lee was in Fort George in York City. I mean to find some way of breaching it."

"I understand," Ben had seen the fort during the evacuation of York City and supposed that with the British now occupying it, they must have made its fortifications stronger than ever. He had heard rumors that the fort itself was unable to be attacked head-on, its garrison numerous and heavily armed. Even for an Assassin of Connor's caliber, Ben knew that he would have to carefully plan his attack.

"Washington asked to see you," Connor suddenly said as he stood up and Ben scrambled to his feet. He was surprised by the native's words and it must have shown on his face as a faint smile appeared on Connor's face. "We have come to an impasse," the native explained, "and your Commander understands that I will not offer my services again for as long as this war rages on."

"T-That's, that's...I understand," Ben stuttered, unsure of what to say before he saw Connor extend a hand out. Ben reached out and clasped it, feeling the man's firm grip and the power behind it.

"You may have denied your heritage, Tallmadge, but your heritage will not deny you," Connor said, "I call you brother, and wish you well in your future hunts."

Ben had little knowledge of native custom, but he knew that what Connor had called him and said to him was extremely significant and nodded. He had to offer something to the man – to tell him that he had appreciated their time working together. The thought occurred to him not even a second later, "Connor, if you need any information, any help with Fort George, do not hesitate to ask."

He could not offer the services of the Culper Ring since he nor Washington knew whether or not Townsend would return to their fold, but he at least could offer his own skills to helping Connor. It was also an offer that told Connor that even though he would not use his skills for the Patriot cause, that the line of communication was still open – that information could be shared. And it seemed Connor understood it as well as he nodded once and released his hand.

With that, the Assassin turned and walked away, disappearing into the line of pitched tents and soldiers milling about. Ben tried to spot him, but could not and smiled to himself as he turned and headed back to Washington's main tent. He could not deny the Assassin's ability to blend in with the crowds so easily – to become so unassuming in a camp full of soldiers or even in a crowd of civilians.

He nodded greetings to the two Lifeguards that were outside of Washington's tent and entered, holding the flap open to let Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton out who was carrying a small stack of papers and several books. The Colonel bid him a quick thanks and grateful nod and Ben watched him head to the tent where André was kept. Hamilton had studied law at King's College before war had broken out and was to defend André at the military tribunal. There was no doubts about André's capture, so Ben knew that Hamilton was going to argue to the tribunal to be treated as an officer instead of a spy. But André's actions elicited no sympathy from Ben and he tried hard to not harbor any ill will about Hamilton's preparation for the tribunal. After all, they were all officers and gentlemen and each one of them would have been presented with the same option should they have been captured.

"Sir, you requested my presence?" he stepped in and let the flap hang close behind him. He saw Billy in the corner, putting a few things away while the Marquis de Lafayette was sitting at another desk, his quill moving fast. He supposed the Marquis was more than likely writing letters to the other French commanders, especially to Admiral de Grasse of the French fleet. They had only recently arrived and it had been intelligence that his ring had received that saved them from an ambush by the British.

"Yes," Washington had been looking over several pieces of letters and set them down when he had spoken up, "your arguments for setting an example has been heard, Benjamin. Though there will still be an official tribunal held for Major André, I will recommend to the board that they decide to try him as a spy for his actions."

"Sir?" Ben was a little confused as to why his Commander-in-Chief was telling him this. He knew that as ranking officer, Washington's opinion would be taken with some serious weight, but it was ultimately up to the board to decide what to do with André. There was no need for Washington to tell him this unless-

"Ah," he realized what he meant based on what Connor had just told him, "a message needs to be sent."

"Yes," there was something that looked like pride in Washington's eyes and Ben felt warmed by it. He was starting to finally understand the shadows and words that his General had been trying to make him understand for the last few years since he had become his head of intelligence. "I also mean to draw out any other elements that Master Kenway might have hidden away. André might not have been a Templar, but his connections to them are undeniable."

"Sir," Ben knew that he was more than likely in no position to ask such a question, but he also knew that if he did not ask, it would bother him until the end of his days, "if I may speak my mind?"

An interesting expression flitted across Washington's face, almost like the one that Ben had seen his Commander wear after he had tore into him about setting an example with André. He had to admit, when that had happened, he had let his anger about everything override his sensibilities – but at that time, he had thought his Commander was too taken in with the polished, urbane, and gentlemanly nature in which André had conversed with them.

"Please," his Commander seemed to wear a mild expression and Ben licked his lips before proceeding.

"You mean to make a statement to the Templars," he did not concern himself with the Marquis' presence since the man had all but proven that he knew Connor and more than likely knew of the Assassins and Templars. "But what of your use of Assassins such as Connor, Mr. Sackett, and even Billy?"

"And yourself?" Washington countered and Ben ducked his head, blushing a little.

"Sir, I am not-"

"Your skills prove otherwise, Benjamin," Washington interrupted him in a gentle tone, "even if you had explained your reasoning for Arnold's escape to the _Vulture_. Granted, it is his own personal hell he has created, and I understand the shock and nature of what had transpired before, but you cannot deny your growth in skill with firearms and of your actions."

This time, Ben could not keep the blush hidden as he felt his face warming quickly. He looked up and saw his General gesture to the Marquis, "I mean to make a statement to the Templars because it seems the Assassins understand my message already. Lafayette has provided me with some interesting knowledge regarding the Templars and Assassins in France itself."

" _Oui_ ," the Marquis set his quill down and turned, his youthful face bright and energetic, "in my homeland, the Templars and Assassins have actually come to an impasse, an agreement of peace between them. While I am not a part of them per se, politics and family history, I do have friends and allies among the Templars and Assassins themselves in France. This peace was achieved with a medium of growth and support that could not allow France to thrive as it has now. The monarchy listens with both ears and both sides and their goals are considered with a thought to the needs of its people."

"There isn't a war there?"

"There is, but those of the aristocracy understand that they are rabble rousers, peasants who deny the peace that the Templars and Assassins achieved, those who do not understand that this war can be stopped," the Marquis explained and Ben stared in surprise. "It is complicated," the Marquis looked a little troubled, but shook his head, "but nonetheless, peace can be achieved between the two factions."

"And it seems the Assassins understand this more than the Templars," Washington continued and Ben nodded.

He would have never thought of the day that the Templars and Assassins could actually achieve a modicum of peace, but the Marquis was saying it was a goal that was not so lofty or above the heavens. He understood Connor's words now, to remove himself from helping Washington, to not directly interfere even though there had been anger towards Washington in the beginning. That reasoning had changed now and Connor knew that American independence was not dependent on the hidden war between Templars and Assassins. With Washington's recommendation to the board of inquiry, it would be sending the same message to the Templars.

Maybe, after André's execution, they would be finally free of any Templar or Assassin influence. Ben could only hope, but silently kept his counsel on the fact that he had offered Connor any help in hunting down Lee. It was, after all, what he owed the man who had helped them so much over the last couple of years.

~END~


End file.
